Wounds So Deep
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: He could see the tears streaming down Arwen's face, and her lips moving as though she spoke, but he heard not a word. His eyes flickered to Elrohir. He was white. He was dead. Slightly AU, as Elrond does not sail with the hobbits.
1. Elrohir

**Chapter One**

 _Elrohir_

 _Elrohir bit his lip hard as the whip came down again, this time across his shoulders. The only sound that escaped him was a tiny moan, lost in the taunts of the Orcs._

 _Snap!_

 _He fell sideways, landing hard in the dirt. Rough hands snatched at his hair, pulling him back onto his knees._

 _He did not make a sound._

 _Then a fist slammed into his face, sending him reeling. A weak cry jerked from his lips as he curled instinctively, covering his head with both arms. He was yanked up again, and the blow repeated. This time he made no effort to hide his pain, his anguished cries echoing through the lofty trees, losing themselves in the empty glades._

 _He could not take anymore such blows. His head rang, the pain overpowering. The Orcs stood over him menacingly, laughing at his weakness, their lips drawn back in hideous sneers._

 _Then clear, Elven voices rang through the air, and there was a noise like thunder. Lights flashed before his eyes, and the last thing he saw was a face close to his. Grey eyes, darkened in rage and grief – a face so familiar and loved that he could not have forgotten it in a thousand years._

 _Elladan._

 _He was safe._

* * *

He could not breathe. He was drowning in a sea of pain, and there was nothing between him and the void of death drawing closer and closer. The faces of his family flickered before his eyes, all slipping by despite his desperate attempts at restraining them. And now his one greatest fear was fulfilled: he was completely and utterly alone.

"Elrohir... Elrohir..."

Distant voices cried his name over and over, but they faded as did everything else. His back was burning with a horrible pain; his rasping breaths grew steadily weaker. Blood rose in his mouth, and tendrils of black swirled through his vision. He choked and writhed as the blood trailed down his cheek, leaving a frightful metallic taste behind. He coughed, his throat flaming at the harsh escape of air, and more blood flooded his mouth. Struggling to draw breath, he began to panic as he inhaled nothing.

He sent out a last desperate call to his twin, though he could no longer feel their bond. _Elladan, where are you?_

No answer.

Elladan had gone – Elladan, who had sworn they would be together always. His twin had left him. He was alone. And with one last gasp, he stopped breathing.

Then a voice came clearly to his ears as his eyes darkened. It ripped through the blackness as a knife slashes through silk.

 _"Elrohir!"_

His eyes flew open, only to be met with a blinding light. He coughed and gasped, struggling through the wave of renewed pain, drowning under its might.

It was all over.

"Elrohir, please!"

 _I'm so sorry..._

He writhed away from the pain, crying out in agony. His back hurt so much, it verged on unbearable. It was of no use to fight.

 _Let me go..._

"Elrohir, I cannot, please stay!"

So easy to give in...

The darkness closed in again, and Elrohir jerked convulsively in an effort to escape it. He did not want to die thus – shaken by terror and pain, alone and unloved...

 _You do not have to die, títhen muindor._

His head flew up, and he lay trembling in the dark. Elladan?

 _You are not alone._

A sensation he had not felt in what seemed like an age; a connection long closed... Was it a dream?

 _You are not unloved._

He shook in the grip of bitter agony, tears streaming down his face as he pitted the last of his strength against the blackness.

 _Elladan,_ he pleaded, _I beg of you, let me go._

There was a pause, but their bond was filled with Elladan's love.

 _And I will not let you go._

He opened his eyes.

* * *

At first he could see nothing, so blurred were his eyes. But as they cleared, he saw the light, and the dark figures that stood grouped about his bed. So many... but he saw only the one closest to him.

Elladan. Who had not left him. Who was, and had been, and who always would be, there.

He gazed desperately at his twin, memorising again every beloved feature – the storm-coloured eyes torn with nameless emotions, the determined chin: all tokens of the stubborn personality that had pulled him from the darkness. All of a sudden his throat was so tight he choked on the breath he had tentatively taken, and his tears fell again.

Arms, more gentle than the wind on a summer's night, slipped beneath him and cradled his battered body close. Elrohir let his head fall back onto Elladan's shoulder, and, his spirit protected by his twin's fëa, he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

"Oh, Elrohir..."

The heartbreaking moan tore everybody's eyes from Elrohir's face. Elladan rocked back and forth, unabashedly crying, holding his twin as though he never wanted to let go.

Elrond was the first to react, tugging his son into his embrace and shielding Elladan's quivering form with both arms. Elladan leaned heavily against his father, soaking him with his tears, his strength completely exhausted.

Elrond murmured soothingly into Elladan's ear, hoping Elrohir would not wake. But thinking of his younger son reminded him of what the Orcs had done to Elrohir, and he seethed with rage.

In the years after Sauron's defeat, the roaming Orc bands had significantly decreased, but a few could still be found in the mountains, or concealed deep in the woods. On a solitary ride over a week before, Elrohir had been taken captive by one such company, and tortured cruelly.

Driven by rage at their lord's defeat, the Orcs had tried to kill Elrohir – literally. They had struck him and whipped him with all the brute force of their combined strength, crushing his once-vibrant spirit. If Elladan's patrol had not chanced upon the band, hearing the cries, Elrohir would have died.

Elrond cringed merely to think of the anguish of those first few days. Fortunately for Elrohir, he had been unconscious for the most part, else the pain might have proved too much right at the beginning. But for the rest of them it had been a nightmare, one from which it seemed they still had not awoken. _Oh Eru,_ he prayed, _let our waking come soon._

The sudden silence startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked down. The expression on his face morphed to a nostalgic smile: Elladan had fallen asleep leaning against him, managing to calm his twin's restless mind while accepting his father's comfort at the same time. Elrond knew his son must be exhausted. Elladan had probably not slept since Elrohir had gone missing, and certainly not since his twin's rescue.

Elrond leaned over to lower his son to the pillows, loosening Elladan's arms about his twin so he could lift Elrohir onto his own lap. Elrohir sagged against him, half-wakening as Elrond's hand smoothed over his back. A tiny whimper of pain escaped his lips, and he buried his face against his father's tunic.

Elrond began to sing softly, his voice a soothing balm to Elrohir's ears, and he gradually relaxed into his father's embrace. Elrond continued his song, slowly pulling aside Elrohir's tunic to check the bandages.

Elrohir's back was jaggedly torn, yet despite the urgings of Aragorn and Galadriel, Elrond had not attempted to stitch the wounds closed. The ferocious nightmares that haunted Elrohir, even while awake, made it nearly impossible for him to lie still for very long at all, and Elrond knew that the ripped stitches would only cause more pain for his precious child.

Even though the chances of Elrohir recovering if the gashes were closed were larger than if they were left open, Elrond harboured a creeping suspicion that something was keeping him from healing, and that closing the wounds would not help in any way. As yet there were no signs of infection, but he would hate to have to undo all the painstaking work required in stitching if he would have to lance it again to release the trapped pus.

Aragorn's sudden hiss of concern pulled Elrond from his morbid cogitation, and his eyes quickly focused. He let his hand hover over the marks, sensing the scorching pain they caused, but then his eyes fell on something else, and he let out a horrified cry.

On Elrohir's back, covering it entirely, the angry red welts slashed across the otherwise pale skin – and, spreading in all directions, were black lines, stretching like claws from the multitude of bruises. Poison.

In his arms Elrohir jerked upright. Elrond turned to the child he held; an unspoken communication passed between them, and Elrohir sank back. With his one free hand, Elrond tenderly stroked the sweat-streaked hair from Elrohir's face, and the younger Elf sighed, leaning into the touch.

Once he had calmed Elrohir, Elrond gazed at the small group about the bed with a mixture of helplessness and pleading in his expression.

"Fresh bandages," Glorfindel said with an encouraging smile, and strode out the door.

There was a slight rustle, and Galadriel knelt by her grandson, holding one of his burning hands in her cool fingers. Then Celeborn came and stood behind his wife, resting his hands on her shoulders, and both of them poured their love and strength upon the injured Elf.

Elrond felt a graceful presence beside him and he looked up to see Arwen, her worry transcending to love as she bent over her brother.

"Aragorn?"

The King stepped forward beside his wife. "Is there something you would have me do?"

"Search all the books on poison from my library. This one thins the blood and keeps the wound open, but I do not remember having encountered it before." Elrond did not glance up, his concerned eyes tracing the insidious black lines.

As Aragorn left the room, Glorfindel returned with the bandages and a pitcher of warm water. Elrond murmured a brief "Hannon le" as he took them from the warrior, setting the bandages by his side as he carefully lowered Elrohir back onto the bed.

Glorfindel bent over his old pupil with a worried smile, brushing his knuckles lightly across Elrohir's cheek. "Listen to your adar, elfling, and remember all I taught you!"

Elrohir's eyes fluttered open and he caught Glorfindel's hand in his, squeezing it weakly. Galadriel moved aside a little to make room for the warrior, and Glorfindel knelt by the bed, wrapping Elrohir's limp hand in both his own.

Elrohir flinched away as Elrond lifted the bandages from his back, biting his lip hard to stifle his involuntary gasp. Galadriel stroked his forehead gently, whispering tenderly into his ear as she used the contact to strengthen her grandson.

Elrond heard the skin tear as he pulled the bandages away as gently as he could. The welts bled freely, staining the sheets a fearful red, but he could see how the poison had thinned it. Reaching for a cloth, he wet it in the water and gently washed away the congealed blood. Then, unfolding the fresh bandages, he sat back and waited for Aragorn's return.

At the same time, Glorfindel let out a cry.

"Elrond, he has stopped breathing!"

Elrond sprang forward at the same time as Celeborn, twisting Elrohir over to lie on his back. He lay terrifyingly still, his face pale and motionless, and his strangling gasps had ceased entirely. But as Elrond desperately searched for some sign of life, he felt a small measure of relief. A weak pulse stammered in the hollow of Elrohir's throat – erratically, he conceded, but it was better than nothing.

Elladan's eyes flew open, his bond with Elrohir suddenly empty. He saw his twin lying unmoving beneath his father, and the tense faces of his Daerada and Daernaneth, and then he felt his sister's hands on his shoulders, shaking him fiercely.

" _Do_ something, Elladan, for Valar's sake! Bring Elrohir _back_!"

Elrohir was dying.

"Elladan!"

He could see the tears streaming down Arwen's face, and her lips moving as though she spoke, but he heard not a word. His eyes flickered to Elrohir.

He was white. He was dead.


	2. Elrond

**Chapter Two**

 _Elrond_

He could not be dead.

For as long as any of them could remember, Elrohir had been an integral part of their lives. He had illuminated all that was beautiful and good; he had raised their spirits and comforted them in times of grief. He was bound to them all by the ties of love and loyalty. Those ties could not be broken by death.

"There is a weak pulse," Elrond muttered hoarsely. "But it will soon stop." He paused, as though it were too painful for him to say, but then he said, even more softly, "He has lost the will to live."

As if on cue, everyone's eyes turned to Elladan, who simply sat there, eyes tightly closed. He did not even notice them. Hesitantly he opened their bond, afraid of what he would find – or not find.

Was it his imagination, or had there been the slightest flicker of life?

It was gone a second later, but the seeds of hope had entered Elladan's heart. Uncertain no longer, he channelled all his strength to his twin, refusing to let him go. He would not die – he _could_ not.

A hitched breath escaped Elrohir's throat, and hearing it, Elladan bit back a cry of relief.

 _Open your eyes, Ro. I know you can feel me._ He maintained an assurance he did not truly possess, in an attempt to calm his brother.

 _E-El?_ Elrohir's response was so weak it barely came through, and he sounded as though he half-believed Elladan's presence was a dream.

 _I am here,_ Elladan soothed. _Open your eyes for me, Ro._

Another tiny breath, and Elrohir trembled as he returned to consciousness. Assured that his twin would not suddenly release his tenuous grasp on life, Elladan withdrew from Elrohir's mind and sat back.

Elrohir let out a moan, quickly followed by several hoarse gasps that masqueraded as breaths. Elrond pressed hard on Elrohir's chest, forcing air into his starved lungs, unaware of anything but his son's uneven breaths until Elrohir twisted suddenly away with a choked protest.

Elrond stopped instantly, his worry temporarily overshadowed by his guilt. He leaned forward and touched his son's pale face, drawing Elrohir's gaze back to his face.

"I am sorry, títhen pen," he murmured, running his fingers lightly over Elrohir's cheek.

Elrohir gazed numbly up at him, his lips parted as he struggled to breathe. He seemed to find comfort deep within his father's eyes, and Elrond did not move until the door reopened.

Aragorn stepped quietly into the room, his face a mask, but Elrond's heart sank even before his daughter's sharp intake of breath shattered the silence.

"I could not find it," Aragorn said softly. "I am sorry."

Elrond felt Elladan slump heavily to the pillows as he gathered Elrohir into his arms and held him close.

* * *

Elrohir drifted towards wakefulness, roused by the voices about his bed. He was comfortable except for the ever-present pain raging along his back and chest, and as he finally pushed his eyes open, he realised he was in his father's arms. It was hard to thrust away the shadows of his dreams, and he could hear nothing but a soft, rhythmical pounding that never altered or missed a beat. It was somehow soothing and familiar at the same time – a sound he had grown up hearing. His father's heartbeat: how many times had he woken to the gentle throbbing against his ear?

"Adar," he muttered hoarsely.

Elrond looked down quickly as Elrohir spoke, and he bent to kiss his son's cheek.

"Yes?" He smiled, but seeing his son lying so helpless in his arms filled him with anger, and it swiftly faded.

"Am I going to die?"

Elrond closed his eyes briefly, raising a hand to brush the sudden moisture from his cheeks. He realised that everyone in the room was staring expectantly at him – to hear what he would say? Did they not already know?

"Adar?" Elrohir tugged weakly on his arm – something he had always done as an elfling. Elrond cleared his throat thickly, unsure of how he should respond.

"Elrohir, I..." He paused, meeting the clearness of his son's grey eyes. "I do not know."

Elladan was suddenly there to save Elrond from further questions. He felt his twin's forehead, and his worry spiked at the sweaty heat radiating from Elrohir. He reached for a cool cloth, unaware of Elrohir's eyes sluggishly following his every move. Elrohir was too exhausted to react when Elladan blinked back an errant tear, but he felt a pang of guilt all the same. He had caused all this grief himself, had he not?

Elladan noticed Elrohir watching him, and he offered a weak smile. Elrohir's eyebrows met in a frown.

"Elladan, I will be fine!"

Elrond laid a finger against Elrohir's lips in an attempt to silence his son, but Elrohir shifted his head slightly to escape it.

"... it was..."

"Shh," Elrond said softly, but Elrohir would not listen.

"It was not your fault!" he insisted.

"Elrohir, please – " Elladan sat beside his twin with a calm smile, and Elrohir was silent at last in a grimace of pain.

"Save your strength, muindor-nín," Elladan ordered gently. "Try to sleep now, Ro. You will feel better."

Elrohir leaned reluctantly back, wincing as the pain redoubled, and he could not quite stifle a groan. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as both Elves instantly bent over him.

"Stop hovering," he insisted as soon as he caught his breath. "I will be fine!"

Elladan stepped back hesitantly, his eyes sceptically raised. Elrohir glared at him.

"It's not..." He turned into Elrond's shoulder to muffle a rasping cough, "... as though I'm dying..."

Silence.

"Elrohir," Elrond started, then stopped. Everyone was looking at him again, and he stifled the urge to grind his teeth together.

"What is it!"

Elrond discerned a note of panic in his son's tone, and he managed a smile for him. The fear in Elrohir's eyes faded, to be replaced with absolute trust as he waited for his father to reply.

Elrond swallowed hard before lowering Elrohir to the pillows and squeezing his hand. "Of course you will be fine, títhen pen-nín."

Beckoning to the others, he strode into the adjoining room, fastening the door when everyone was assembled. Then he turned and met their gazes.

"How could you say that!" Aragorn hissed, his eyes flashing.

Elrond struggled to control the anger building within him. "What am I _supposed_ to tell him? That he is going to _die_?" He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Could you tell such a thing to Eldarion, were he in my son's place? Elrohir believes I can heal anything! You are asking me to shatter the image of his father he has always treasured!"

When he was finally silent, nobody else spoke. Celeborn gazed moodily out the window, and Galadriel twisted Nenya around and around on her slender finger, making no effort to hide the tears in her azure eyes. Elladan sat with his head in his hands, shoulders drooping hopelessly, and Arwen sobbed softly beside her husband. Half-hidden in the shadows, Glorfindel leaned against the wall, his grief written plainly on his features. None of them dared to look at Elrond.

"I cannot simply tell him that," Elrond said finally, quieting his voice. "I would sooner die myself."

At that same moment, there came a frightened cry from Elrohir's room. _"Adar!"_

Elrond leaped to his feet and ran through the door, skidding to a stop by the bed. Elrohir lay trembling, hands held pleadingly out to him, his eyes dilated and desperate. "Elrohir, what is wrong?" Elrond asked in concern, resting a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, but he had already realised that his son had heard. He had intended to tell Elrohir somehow, but he had not expected it to be in this hideously blunt fashion. He would have hated himself had he not been so worried.

Moved with compassion, Elrond lifted Elrohir carefully into a sitting position and let him fall back against his chest, snaking both arms about his son's waist to hold him in place. Elrohir pushed against him, but Elrond did not move. He knew that Elrohir desperately needed the contact, whether he realised it or not.

"I am so sorry," he whispered, unshed tears bright in his eyes. "Forgive me, please, I did not mean for you to hear."

Elrohir hid his burning face against his father's shoulder and did not reply, concentrating instead on steadying his breathing. Elrond sensed his struggle and lent his strength, kissing the dark hair that lay tumbled on his tunic. But Elrohir flinched away from his father's embrace, and his halting breath came in short gasps. Slightly hurt, and more than a little worried, Elrond tried to pull him back.

"You need to lie still," he whispered quietly, tightening his arms to form a cocoon of warmth and safety about his younger son. He did not expect an answer as he relaxed against the pillows. He did not expect his embrace to be accepted, although he wanted that with every ounce of his being.

"Adar."

Elrohir's head came to rest on his father's shoulder, and Elrond's breath caught in his throat. Aye, the tales spoke much of deeds of love and trust, but this simple movement – it eclipsed them all. Elrohir's life was collapsing before his very eyes, and he still found the strength to trust the one who had hidden the truth he wanted above anything in Arda, however frightful it might be.

"You told me I would be all right." Elrohir's voice was a barely audible whisper.

Elrond had no excuse. He wanted none. Before another word could be said, he had cradled Elrohir close to his chest and buried his face in his son's hair.

And Elrohir let him cry. He understood a little of his father's pain, enough that he knew not to disturb him.

At length, silence reigned in the room. It was now near midnight; the sky was blacker than black, shielding its stars from sight behind thick storm clouds. Lightning crackled deep in the south, and a low growl of thunder rumbled through the air. A few drops of rain fell, but that was a mere prelude to the torrential deluge that soon followed. Cold air blew in through the open balcony doors, and Elrohir shivered.

Elrond looked down in concern before rising carefully to his feet. He slipped an arm about Elrohir's back, knowing that he would irritate some wound wherever he touched, but Elrohir did not make a sound. His eyes were closed and he lay unmoving, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he battled both pain and exhaustion.

Kicking the doors together, Elrond bent his head to Elrohir's to murmur a brief word of comfort before moving to the windows. The sky was spectacular: lightning slashed through the thick blackness like a whip, and the crash of thunder shook the air. Elrohir started, his eyes flying open, and he gazed, disorientated, at his father.

"Just a storm, elfling," Elrond said softly.

"Not... an... elfling..." Elrohir responded automatically, lifting his head so he could see out the window.

"The day you do not respond to that nickname, I will know you truly are not well," Elrond smiled, and nearly bit his tongue out. Elrohir dropped back and did not reply.

"Elrohir, I did not mean..." Elrond began, but he could not continue.

"Adar?" Elrohir whispered, unable to control the tremor in his voice. "I... I am afraid."

Elrond bit his lip, returning to the bed and sitting down slowly. "Afraid of what, ion-nín?"

"D-death." Elrohir's voice trembled again, and he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I will be all alone."

"Not alone," Elrond protested, tightening his arms and holding his son even closer.

Elrohir's eyes looked dark as he met Elrond's uncertain gaze. "Will El be there?"

"No." The monosyllable was barely audible.

"Or you? Or Arwen, or Naneth?"

"Elfling, you know we will not be," Elrond said softly.

"Then I will be alone."

Elrond closed his eyes briefly to rid them of his building tears. "Elrohir, you are never alone. There will always be someone to care for you – to look after and love you. I promise it."

The thunder rumbled again.

Tears spilled from Elrohir's stormy eyes, and he buried his face in Elrond's shoulder. "I want you." The first sob jerked from his throat. "And Elladan. I do not want you to leave, Adar!"

"I cannot let you go," Elrond choked, hiding his face against Elrohir's hair. "I could not bear it..."

Lightning tore through the heavens, illuminating the sky. Elrohir huddled closer, clinging to Elrond with what little remained of his strength.

"Let me stay... I do not want to go..."

Elrond beat back his emotions and sat straighter, so he could hold his son upright. "Elrohir, look."

Elrohir's eyes followed the pointing finger to the window, and his face was overrun with confusion. He looked back at Elrond. "I do not..."

Elrond rose to his feet, shifting so that Elrohir could find a more comfortable position. "Death is like a storm, títhen pen."

"No, it is not," Elrohir contradicted wearily, leaning back again. He let out a moan at the pain, clenching his eyes tightly shut. "I do not understand."

Elrond sat down again in the chair, lightly stroking Elrohir's cheek with his fingers as he gazed out at the storm. "Look at the lightning, little one. You never know when it will come. It is unpredictable, and the only thing you can be certain of is that the thunder will come soon after." He bent to kiss his son's forehead, and Elrohir curled involuntarily closer. "As it is with death. No one, not even the wisest, know when it is to come. It has always been a cryptic thing, something to be commonly feared. But in truth, if you have lived with charity and love and compassion, death is the smallest thing you need fear." He paused, smiling at the sudden peace that sprang to Elrohir's eyes. "Even as the one certain thing about a storm is that the thunder will come – the one thing certain about death is that it will bring us together again. Be at peace, little one."

They sat in silence, Elrond rocking soothingly back and forth, and Elrohir's eyes drifted slowly shut. He did not sleep; only dozed, his face peaceful as his father's reassuring words made their intended affect. He still felt horrible, though the pain in his back had eased somewhat, but for some reason it was easier to bear now. He relaxed further, sinking into Elrond's embrace with a contented sigh.

The sunrise blossomed over the trees, heralding the new day. Elrond rose at last and returned to the bed, pulling back the covers. He frowned in distaste. The sheets were stained with spots of insidious red – the blood of his dying son.

Swallowing hard, Elrond strode to the door and peered out. Several Elves stood in the hallway, tensed as though the merest word would rouse them to avenge their lord's pain.

"Lassë?" he asked softly.

A lovely young Elf maiden stepped forward, curving her compressed lips into a smile. "May I help you, my lord?"

"If you would," Elrond answered, managing to return her smile with a tight one of his own. "Could you bring fresh sheets, and perhaps some cold water?"

Lassë curtsied and ran down the hall. Another elleth followed her, presumably to help.

Elrond leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as a wave of exhaustion broke over him. He had not realised he was so incredibly tired, and now all he wanted was to drop into bed and sleep.

He straightened as Lassë entered the room, bringing with her an air of confidence and self-assuredness that was strangely refreshing. She efficiently stripped the bed of the stained linen, and as she shook out the fresh sheets the room was filled with their clean, starched aroma. Elrond inhaled and then quickly released his breath, realising he must look like an idiot.

"My lord?"

Lassë had remade the bed and now stood dispassionately watching him. But her face changed as Elrohir's head turned on Elrond's shoulder, revealing his pale features. She drew in her breath sharply, taking an unconscious step forward before she recovered.

"You may put him down now, my lord," she instructed quietly. "The water is to lower his fever; I will monitor it. Have no worries." Seeing his startled expression, she smiled. "I can see you are not quite with it, my lord. You must rest, if only for your son. He needs your strength."

She was right, he realised as he laid Elrohir on the bed. His arms were trembling, and he felt suddenly light-headed – almost as though he was floating.

The change in position jarred Elrohir, and he moaned as he twisted aside, trying to escape the pain. Lassë was by his side in an instant, holding his flushed face between both hands as she endeavoured to calm him.

"Shh, Elrohir, be still," she soothed, rubbing her fingers lightly over his temples. "Do not fear the pain, it cannot overcome you."

Elrohir tried to speak, but no sound came from the parched lips. Lassë reached for the cup of water by the bed, holding it to Elrohir's mouth as Elrond raised him up. Elrohir's head fell forward as he sagged limply, conscious only of the flaring pain all over his body.

Elrond murmured comfortingly into his son's ear as Lassë dribbled a few drops of water into the Elf's mouth. But Elrohir jerked upright, his head hitting Elrond's chin, and he began to cough. It hurt unbearably; his throat was on fire, and he could not hold back the few tears that rolled down his cheeks. A slight move to the right and he was in his adar's arms, stifling his uncontrollable coughs in Elrond's shoulder as his head pounded cruelly. He tasted blood, rising in his throat and pooling in his mouth, and he spat it out in revulsion. His heart galloped madly, and he gasped for breath as everything whirled before his eyes. Blurred faces swirled about him, their voices far-off and unintelligible over the hammering in his head.

Then a cool hand touched his cheek, and something wet trickled into his mouth, and the same hands massaged his throat to help him swallow. It was the touch of a woman, and in all his life the one woman who had ever caressed him like that was the one lost to him forever.

"Naneth..." he croaked, and his breathing slowed as slender fingers smoothed his tangled hair, gathering it into a single braid.

"I am not your Naneth." The voice was calm and quiet. "But your Adar holds you, and your brother is here. Will you try to drink a little?"

The cup was again held to his lips, and he managed to swallow a few mouthfuls before falling back, exhausted. But before he could relax, a new voice broke into the turmoil of his thoughts, and hearing it, he roused himself a little.

"Ro? Can you open your eyes?"

It was Elladan's voice, but he had not been there before, had he?

"Elrohir?"

He turned restlessly, though he could not move without awakening the pain that constantly plagued him. Elladan's pleas followed him, but he could not find the strength to respond.

Then his twin's familiar presence flooded his senses, and Elladan's mind brushed against his.

 _Will you let me in, Elrohir?_

Elrohir knew it was not really a question, and that Elladan would not take no for an answer. He opened his mind and nearly gasped as his twin entered, soothing his pain and replenishing his exhausted strength. He physically felt Elladan beside him, but he was unable to concentrate on anything but their bond.

 _El, I am afraid._ There was no point in hiding that, and he needed comfort so desperately.

Elladan's response came swiftly. _Of what are you afraid?_

 _E-everything._ He paused. _I do not want to be alone._

For a brief moment, there was no response. Then Elladan's voice sounded again through his mind.

 _Elrohir, look at me._

It never occurred to him that he could disobey; he hesitated only a second before cracking his eyes open. It was his father who held him, but he saw only his twin. In Elladan's eyes was none of the uncertainty that tossed within his own. Drowning in their depths, he barely felt the words that followed.

 _You are never alone._

Then Elladan's arms surrounded him, and he was eased down against a steadily beating heart. Elrohir did not speak. He did not even move. He simply lay in Elladan's arms, never noticing that, all of a sudden, they were alone.

 **A/N:** Sorry if this is an incredibly angsty chapter! I can get myself so much into the moment that my pen basically moves by itself and I don't have a chance to edit till after. (And then, of course, I do not have the heart!)

 **Elvish Translations:**

títhen pen-nín - my little one


	3. Elladan

**Chapter Three**

 _Elladan_

"My little brother," Elladan breathed, gazing into Elrohir's tired eyes. He smiled as his twin only curled closer to him. "I think you are glad to see me."

"El..." Elrohir exhaled slowly. "Do not leave..."

Elladan smiled reassuringly. "No one will ever take me from your side, I swear."

Elrohir sighed softly, closing his eyes against the sunlight that streamed in the windows. He felt Elladan moving carefully, and when he curiously raised one eyelid he saw that his twin was blocking the glare. He opened the other eye and managed a tired smile.

"Thanks."

Elladan's expression changed as he took in his twin's exhausted appearance. The shadows about the eyes; the lines about the mouth that had not been there before: he saw it in every familiar feature, and he reached out a hand worriedly.

"Are you..." He stopped, realising it was a stupid question. He tightened his arm about his twin's back... and loosened it just as quickly as Elrohir let out a gasp.

"Valar, Ro, I'm sorry," he stammered guiltily. "I did not think."

Elrohir regained his breath and tried to grin, but he was a little paler than before. "It's nothing."

"Elrohir!"

He glanced up quickly, hearing the worry foremost in Elladan's voice. "I will be fine!"

Elladan's eyes narrowed. "You may be trying to convince me, but you are also trying to convince yourself. Do not try to fool me!"

Elrohir flinched at his twin's accusation, unable to deny it. He dared a look into Elladan's eyes, reading all the emotions tumbled together. Worry, guilt, love, and anger – at whom?

"Elladan..."

"What is it?" Elladan's voice was softer now.

"Don't be angry."

"Angry?" Elladan looked confused.

Elrohir nodded insistently. "It was not your fault, El."

"Angry at myself? Oh, no." Elladan gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not angry at myself. It is the Orcs I am angry at!"

"It was not that much," Elrohir pleaded hopelessly. Elladan's arms stiffened and released him and he fell back onto the pillows with a grimace of pain.

 _"Not that much!"_ Elladan spat. "I suppose you were thinking that while they were beating you!" He pulled aside his twin's tunic and revealed the bandages, his hand trembling with rage. "And I suppose _these_ are not _that much_!"

"El..." Elrohir began, but Elladan cut him off.

"I am tired of you forgiving everyone of their wrongs! I am tired of you not caring when they hurt you! And I am _sick_ of them escaping without punishment!" He lowered his voice with an effort. "If they hurt you, Ro, they face me. And I am telling you that I will not rest until all those Orcs are dead."

* * *

Elladan dropped to his knees against his bed, breathing heavily. He could not comprehend Elrohir's calm resignation to what had happened – it infuriated him that his twin seemed to care so little, while he, on the other hand, seethed at the mere thought. Ada had said he was dying – yet in the midst of all his pain, he still managed to smile. But _why_?

"Because he is different."

Elladan whirled to see his sister standing in the doorway, her face sad as she watched him. A particle of his anger drained from him as he took in her expression, but he would not let go so easily.

"He does not _care_ ," he spat at last.

Arwen continued into the room quietly. "As to that – yes, Elladan, he does. He simply does not react as you do. He has a different way of dealing with it."

Elladan stared at her, his eyes suddenly pricking as she came to stand beside him. She smiled down at him, seemingly oblivious to the emotion on his face.

"Do you remember when you found out Dorahel was harassing Elrohir?"

"Of course." His voice was dry and thick. Why did Arwen have to choose this particular time to indulge in memories?

"You taught Dorahel a lesson he never forgot. That no one could hurt Elrohir and get away with it." Arwen's voice was expressionless, but he read the grief in her eyes as she sat down on the bed. "And when you returned to Elrohir, you found he did not care."

"Of course he cared," Elladan muttered.

"Precisely." Arwen smiled slowly. "He cared then, and he cares now. But not like you."

"Arwen..." Elladan swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I do not think I can handle this conversation right now."

"Elladan, do you not see?" Arwen persisted. "Elrohir does not forget. The memories remain imprinted upon his memory; he does not take out his pain physically, as you do. I do not think you know just how different you two are!"

Elladan remained silent. He did not trust his voice.

"You have always looked out for him. He does not need you to, but he lets you. Why?"

"Do not go there." His voice was so quiet she barely heard it.

Arwen lifted the hand he had left on the bed, and stroked it lightly. He did not raise his head from the blankets.

"You were always the stronger one," she whispered, her voice catching. "And now to see you, bowed down with despair, weighted with grief... you are like a brother I have never known."

Elladan jumped to his feet, tearing his hand from her grasp. "You do not understand my grief!" he shouted. "You _cannot_! Elrohir is my twin – he is half of me! I cannot live without him! And you expect _me_ to be the Elladan I used to be!"

"That is not what I meant!"

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Elladan retorted. "That I should continue living? That I should pretend my soul did not die that day, knowing that out of all the people I am deceiving – _I_ am the one who believes it least!" He lowered his voice as a half-sob forced its way out. "Is that _really_ what you want?"

Eru, he could not take this any longer. He needed to run... to run from the blackness of despair and death – but he had promised Elrohir he would stay. Divided, he stood where he was, hardly seeing Arwen as she approached him.

"Elladan..."

She stood on tiptoe to slip her arms about his shoulders, feeling him tremble under her touch.

"Elladan."

At last he looked up, his eyes brimful of tears, and met her gaze.

"You _know_ that is not what I meant," she murmured.

He broke down and cried.

* * *

Well over an hour later, Elladan and Arwen emerged from his room. Elladan's face was wiped of all traces of the tears he had shed, but his eyes expressed the pain he could not fully hide.

As they stood in front of Elrohir's door, Elladan hesitated.

"What if he does not forgive me?" he asked finally.

Arwen stopped beside him, her hand on the doorknob, and she saw his anxiety.

"Do not worry," she said. Then a smile entered her voice, and she reached up to hug him again. "He has probably forgotten already."

Elladan managed a smile, but he did not look convinced.

"Elladan," she said softly, "you were made for hope. Not despair."

With one last smile, she opened the door and pushed him in ahead of her. Elladan looked up slowly, awaiting the accusing glares he was almost certain would be directed at him. But the Elves about the bed barely noticed him, so intent were they on the wounded Elf before them. Elrohir was awake, surrounded by his family. Celeborn and Galadriel sat beside him, talking quietly, and on the other side, Elrond held one of his hands gently. Elrohir glanced up as the door opened, and his breath caught.

"El..."

Elladan bit his lip, cautiously approaching the bed. Elrond slid aside to make room for him, and Elladan sat down. Elrohir's eyes were intense, and Elladan could not hold his gaze for long.

"Elrohir, I was wrong about – about you," he said hastily, but there was no questioning his sincerity. "I am sorry."

Elrohir did not say a word, but he stretched out his hand to his twin and caught Elladan's wrist. Smiling in relief, Elladan slid his arms gently beneath Elrohir's shoulders and hugged him, releasing the breath he'd held ever since entering the room. But even amidst his joy, he could not deny how pale his twin had become. He had refused to admit that Elrohir was dying, even after his father had scoured all the books he possessed to identify the poison. It was inconceivable that Elrohir should die after having been through so much at his side. But now his twin could barely return his embrace, and there was no way past it.

"I will stay with you, Ro," he whispered softly in his twin's ear. "I will let nothing break our bond. Trust me."

Elladan bent to kiss his cheek, surrounding Elrohir's ebbing spirit with his fëa. Elrond felt the twins' connection and reached for his youngest son through their bond. Arwen knelt by the bed, holding one of his limp hands against her cheek to soothe his restless movements.

Pushed into a deep sleep, Elrohir sighed once as he sensed his family's presence. He relaxed further into his twin's embrace, and they, in turn, felt his peace.

 **A/N:** Sorry, this is a shorter chapter! I was really losing my inspiration there... =( As I only have one and a half more chapters written so far, I'm going to start posting them every other day. I'm writing as fast as I can, but I've completely lost my inspiration so basically nothing is happening. =(

To everyone who has favourited, followed, or reviewed this story – thanks so much! I'm so, so glad you like it!


	4. Arwen

**Chapter Four**

 _Arwen_

Elladan and Elrond rose at last from the bed. Elladan looked relieved and sad at the same time, but Elrond was grey and haggard. He had gone for days without sleep, and his exhaustion was finally catching up to him.

Celeborn and Galadriel turned beside Arwen, and they all stood before Elrond. He did not say a word, but as he swayed, Celeborn hurried to support him.

"You have not been sparing yourself, ion-nín," he accused his son-in-law quietly. "You're of no use to anyone, Elrohir least of all, half-dead."

Elrond leaned on Celeborn's arm as he allowed himself to be guided to a chair, scrubbing wearily at his eyes with his fists. He did not seem to notice when Celeborn dropped to his knees beside the chair, watching him worriedly.

"Elrond? Are you all right?"

Elrond shook his head, too tired to dare his father-in-law's perceptive eye with a lie. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Elladan. Elrohir had always been the calm twin, steady and careful at the worst of times, but now Elladan took his place with an endearing firmness that brooked no protest.

"Come, Adar."

Slipping an arm about his father's shoulders, Elladan lifted him to his feet and led him out of the room. After a moment of undecided hesitation, Arwen's grandparents followed, leaving her alone with her sleeping brother.

The room was still and dark, the curtains drawn against the noonday sun. All she could hear was Elrohir's light breathing, slightly laboured as he wandered in lonely dreams.

"Elrohir..." The name was a wistful sigh on her lips as she approached the bed that seemed so wide – far too large for the slender figure that lay upon it. "Stay with us..."

Elrohir's breathing evened as she turned him onto his side, and his hand reached unconsciously for hers. He slept on.

Arwen sat down beside him, running her fingers lightly over the palm of her brother's hand.

"I love you," she whispered, gazing down at his face as the shadows of the wind-stirred curtains played over it. "Stay with us, please?"

The words became a chant, one she repeated over and over as the afternoon deepened and Elrohir cried out in restless dreams.

"I love you... please stay with us... please, Elrohir, stay..."

Elrohir's fingers jerked in her grasp and his eyes flew open, but they were glazed and unfocused.

"Elladan!"

"Shh," she soothed, resting her other hand on his cheek. "Go back to sleep, Elrohir."

"Arwen..." Elrohir gasped as he struggled to rouse himself.

"I am here, _einior muindor_ , I am here," she murmured, smiling gently as his eyes fastened on her. But she started as she saw his expression – haunted, terrified...

"Arwen, get out! They are coming!"

Arwen glanced over her shoulder. There was no one there.

"Who are coming?" she questioned, confused, and released his hand as he pulled away.

"Get out!"

"Elrohir!" Her voice rose in concern, but Elrohir did not hear.

"They are coming! Get _away_!" His voice was strangled, his face white and terror-stricken as he shied from her restraining hand.

Then it struck her. The fear in her brother's eyes. His pleadings that she run. He was dreaming.

"Elrohir, my sweet brother..." Her voice was a soft whisper to Elrohir's ears, but as she pulled him closer he fought her gentle embrace, and her soothing words fell on deaf ears.

Arwen sat back as Elrohir twisted away from her, his sweat-streaked face stamped with fear. He lay still at last, his back to her, but his shoulders quivered as he struggled to regain control over his feelings.

Eru, what could she do? She could not leave him in this state, nor did she desire to, but her brother's mind was so overrun with nightmares that he no longer even recognised her.

Then finally, everything came together and struck her like a gale screaming through a defenceless forest. Elrohir _could_ not recover. Upon his soul had been branded the same horrors as had stolen their mother from them, and without the healing light of Valinor, he would not survive. Her brother was not merely physically wounded – she had begged the Valar it could be only that. He had sustained far worse injuries, and had always emerged the same cheerful, loyal-hearted Elrohir he had always been to her. But the _memories_ – the same that had haunted Celebrian during her last days in Arda – had hidden his heart under waves of blackness, and he saw only his tormenters in the midst of his family. He had no choice but to succumb to the darkness.

Tears stained Arwen's cheeks, and a hard knot clenched within her as she gazed upon her brother. Her ada had known what Elrohir's return meant, even before they had found there was no cure for the poison that coursed through his weakened body.

He had known. And he had kept on going.

She could not do it.

Elrohir's passing would swiftly crush the last remnants of life in Elladan's soul. The twins had often joked of their closeness, but never before had it seemed so horrible a reality as it did now. And Elrond could not bear to lose two more of those he loved, after having lost his daughter to mortality, and he would sail to be reunited with the one still attainable to him.

She would be all alone.

The sun sank down in the east, colouring the sky with its crimson radiance as the leaping waterfalls danced and laughed in the first shades of twilight. One single voice rose in a melancholy chant outside as the first of the stars peeped out, but it was swiftly quenched as though it sensed the tears she could not hold back.

Oh, she had known it would come to this eventually. She had known she would be alone – and this very reality had caused her to question her love for Aragorn; to waver in her assuredness that mortality was what she wanted. But she had never been actually faced with the enormity of her choice until that moment.

"Elrohir?" She reached out a timid hand, but drew it back before she touched him. His tangled braid slipped over one shoulder as he flinched from her closeness, and he flung an arm over his face as if to shield himself from a blow.

Arwen leaned against the headboard, and watched the stars float through the sky like impenetrable splinters of the sun. The evening wore on, transcending to night as the darkness increased, and a soft wind stirred the curtains. Gradually, as silence reigned throughout the House, Elrohir's eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing took on an easier cadence. Arwen's eyes softened as she watched her brother sleep, although her expression was laced with grief. Elrohir had always been so strong, and now to see him so broken... In a way he was like a little child, vulnerable and frightened as he reached out for the family he could find nowhere in the darkness.

Shifting a little closer, Arwen began to sing quietly, smoothing Elrohir's tangled hair back from his forehead. Unravelling the loose braid, she ran her fingers lightly through the thick black strands, a frown tightening her lips as she gently worked through the knots. But still her voice fell sweetly through the night as she sang the darkness from her brother's dreams.

* * *

Blackness.

All about him, surrounding him, stifling him in an ever-tightening embrace. It was as though he stood on the edge of a void in which he could see nothing and hear nothing. He felt nothing but fear. Why he had not fallen into the nightmares that consistently haunted him he did not know, but he was aware of an overwhelming sense of relief. At least he would be left in peace!

The silence grew and deepened, and the darkness thickened tangibly. At the same time, a flash of pain slashed over him like a whip, eliciting a choking gasp from his parched lips, and he fell to his knees. He gazed desperately about himself, striving to pierce the surrounding darkness and find some light, searching for someone – _anyone_. Someone who could help him.

 _Oh, Elladan, where are you?_ His voice was a lament, lost in the shadows, but although he expected no answer, it was tear jerking when there was complete silence.

No one. There was no one who wished to be with him. They hated him – because he was something worthless, something poisoned and disgusting. Oh, why was he surprised – verging on bitterly hurt – that no one answered his pleas?

Elrohir had been alone before, but never in his life had he felt such despair, such utter hopelessness. They had abandoned him – his _family_ , who professed to love him. Where were they when he needed them most? Ai, Valar, what had he ever done to them?

 _"What am I supposed to tell him..."_

A sob caught in his throat as his father's angry voice washed over his consciousness.

 _"That he is going to die?"_

A sudden fit of trembling seized him as the words repeated themselves over and over again, branding themselves like burnt fire on his psyche.

 _No! No, no, no, no, no!_

With one last effort, he straightened his aching back and glared into the darkness. He was angry – furious. He was brimful of rage not only at his adar for hiding the truth, but at himself for being so pathetically afraid.

"Face it." His voice shook as he shivered, the words echoing about him like outright mockery, flaunting his fear in his face. "Don't run like a coward, you fool, you vacuous imbecile... You should not be afraid... You – are – a – warrior!"

The words did little to reassure him. Waves of exhaustion flowed through his veins, but at last the darkness seemed to lift. He raised his head slowly, at first seeing only a hazy blur, but his vision gradually cleared and his surroundings became more distinct.

He was lying on his side, and wavy raven hair was brushing lightly against his face. He blinked once and twisted his torso to gain a better view of the person beside him, but a sudden sharp twinge of pain proved his had been an unwise move. He let out a gasp of pain as the room whirled, nearly losing his battle for consciousness as black spots danced before his eyes.

"Elrohir?"

A face formed in the blur that swam before his eyes, and he recognised his sister. He moved his parched lips slowly, but it was a long moment before he could manage her name.

"Arwen..."

"Mae govannen, muindor-nín," Arwen answered softly, stroking Elrohir's cheek. "How do you feel?"

Before Elrohir gave his customary "I'm fine", he lay back and considered how he actually felt. It was not pretty. There was an acerbic taste that lingered unpleasantly in his mouth, one that he could not dispel however hard he tried. His back ached, though not intolerably as it had before: what bothered him most was the relentless throbbing in his head. Ai Valar, it hurt.

"Rohir?" Arwen shook him ever so gently, her eyes growing concerned as her brother did not respond. "How are you? Is the pain worse?"

"I... a little better, I think," Elrohir whispered, wincing as her voice echoed loudly through his head.

"Good." Arwen smiled in relief, never ceasing her soothing motions on her brother's cheek. "That is very good."

Elrohir released a tenuous sigh and surrendered himself to his sister's gentle touch. He was tired, even though he had just woken, but he was afraid to allow himself to sleep again. He could not remember the last time he had been able to rest without some haunting reminder of his captivity – and that was what he really dreaded. The smallest mention of what he had been forced to suffer caused him to shiver, and he turned his face into the warmth of Arwen's hand.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Arwen asked softly, seeing him flinch and sensing what it was that troubled him.

Elrohir nodded slowly, not moving from the comfort her touch afforded. He did not want to think about it.

Her voice became even quieter. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Elrohir shook his head. All he wanted was to banish these memories from his head forever, but they were such a tangible reality that he could not.

Arwen sighed and shifted her position. The sun was peeping over the hilltops; she had been sitting like this for hours. Almost as though he sensed her discomfort, Elrohir spoke.

"You did not have to stay. Not..." His voice faltered, and he took a moment to steady it. "Not if you don't want to."

Arwen glanced down at him, her initial reaction one of surprise at hearing him be the first to speak. Then that faded as she slowly registered his words.

"Not stay? Why would I not want to?" In her curiosity, she sounded more accusing, perhaps, than she had meant. Elrohir's eyes darkened, and he pulled away from her swiftly. He could not bite back a low cry of pain as the movement pulled at his raw back, and he sank heavily back onto the pillows, his face white and drawn.

Arwen reached quickly for the glass of water on the side-table and slipped a supporting arm about her brother's shoulders as she lifted his head slightly. Elrohir shook his head with a pout and turned weakly aside, but Arwen would have none of it.

"Drink a little," she insisted. "You need to stay hydrated."

Elrohir grimaced. How like Arwen to mention such a thing at such a time, he mentally reflected, but he did not refuse her help as she held the glass to his lips again. After a few sips he pushed it away with a disgruntled expression.

"It is warm," he whined. "I cannot drink it."

Arwen frowned a little and took a dainty sip. She let out a shiver. "Aye, it is, that!"

She set it back on the table and went to the door, leaning out and calling down the hallway. There appeared to be several Elves lingering about his room, since three at once appeared at the door.

"Ah!" Arwen smiled sweetly, doing her best not to appear confused as she furtively decided who would be best suited for the task at hand. "Elcúron?"

"Yes, my lady?" A dark-haired Elf stepped forward, his eyes searching out the figure on the bed. He had always been one of Elrohir's best friends, and to know his lord's son was in such pain hurt him deeply.

"Could you please bring some cold water?" Arwen thought a moment, wondering if there was anything else she might need. "And a cloth?"

"Of course, Lady Arwen." Elcúron bowed and strode quickly down the hall, relieved that he could be of some use to his friends.

Arwen turned back to her brother and found his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He looked guilty and sad, and he did not respond to her anxious query whether he was all right. She crossed the room swiftly and stood over the bed, gently turning his face towards her again.

"Elrohir?" As he did not reply, but only twisted to free his chin from her grasp, she suddenly recalled what he had said earlier. "Oh..."

She lowered herself down beside him and gathered him tenderly into her arms, pressing a comforting kiss to his dark hair. Elrohir did not refuse her comfort, but nor did he accept it, stubbornly forcing down the tears that threatened to rise.

"Elrohir," she said softly, "you are my _brother_. Why would I not wish to stay with you?"

Elrohir trembled helplessly, afraid of his own emotions. He could hardly open his mouth to force out the words he knew would hurt her beyond anything in Arda.

"Because..." The word caught in his throat, and he rubbed angrily at his pricking eyes with the back of his hand. "Because... I am worthless."

He no longer had any excuse behind which to hide his tears.

 **A/N:** Sorry this took me so long to post! I had French lessons this morning and then school when I got back, so I really didn't have time until now. Enjoy, and if you do, please review! (Because you know I love them and I'm so awesome.)


	5. A Father's Pain

**Chapter Five**

 _Elrond_

Elrond lay in a waking state between dreams and reality, eyes closed in his weariness. He was tired, so very tired – and though he had slept for hours, he did not believe that any of his exhaustion had lifted at all. The feelings he had held at bay for hours... _days..._ were finally resurfacing, and he had not the energy to fight them back. Images of Elrohir flashed before his eyes – his son's pale face as his life failed, the horrific wounds that caused such anguish; and finally, one whose possibly reality he had refused to consider. Ever.

Elrohir lying dead.

 _No!_ His mind rebelled against such a possibility, but he could not banish the sight from his mind. It was there; he could not run from it – oh, Valar, it was _there_...

The grey, cold face, almost frighteningly quiet in its last slumber. Neatly braided raven hair spread over his shoulders; a chest that rose and fell no more. The flames rose about his son's face, snatching greedily at the still figure lying on the bier, casting a queer, unearthly light upon the faces of his grieving children at his side. The growing ache that gripped his heart, rising steadily until it sent him to his knees, and he begged in vain for the tears that refused to flow, seeking solace somewhere – anywhere – from the grief that had haunted his life since he was born.

He felt so empty and alone. First his brother – his _twin_ , to make it worse – had chosen the fate of Men, and long ago he had died. The sundering of their bond had been painful, but it in no way compared with the anguish of his parting with Celebrian. Their bond had not been broken, being the connection of husband and wife, but simply being forced from her side had nearly broken his heart. His daughter had chosen love over immortal bliss – and her love would lead to her death.

Arwen... Elrond felt a surge of sorrow well up in his heart. Fair as starlight upon a shadowed river, wise as any of the Eldar – independent and strong to a fault. She would not budge from her choice once she decided upon it. He had tried to move her. Elladan and Elrohir had tried – each in their own unique way had sought to convince her to sail with them. It had all been in vain.

 _Celebrian!_ His cry was one of utter despair. _What am I to do?_

A second later, golden light flooded his heart and mind, washing into their bond. His breath caught in his throat. Ai, he could see her now – lovely as a star, her silver hair shimmering about her, a gentle smile upon her soft lips as she gazed upon him with all the love and tenderness that could ever be captured within the essence of love. How he missed her – how he needed her quiet strength, her loyalty, her love to support him as he wandered through the lonely night.

 _Elrond?_

The very name was a reassurance as it fell from her lips, but her voice was fraught with grief.

"Celebrian!" he choked aloud, caught within his bottomless misery.

 _Elrond, tell me of my son._ She was still calm and steady to look upon, but her azure eyes sparked with fear and knowledge, and a thousand other emotions he could not possibly name.

 _Oh, Eru, she knew._

He took a shuddering breath and reached out to her, finally connecting their bond. Instantly a sense of peace flowed over his consciousness, calming him and soothing his biting fear.

 _Tell me of Elrohir,_ she pleaded again. _What of him? What has happened?_

"He..." Elrond knew his words would shatter her calm visage, and prepared himself for the tears he knew his wife would shed. "He is dying, my love."

Celebrían's face changed drastically as she took in his words. _Dying? But... Elrond... he cannot!_

Elrond was silent. He could not reply. He knew he had hurt her beyond word's description – had wounded her, both as a mother and as a wife. He had failed her in his vow to keep their children safe, had failed in the last promise she had tearfully begged of him by the sea. He had not known what he was saying then, so emotionally fragile had he been; but in the centuries that had passed since his wife's sailing, he had come to understand just what an enormous task he had taken upon himself.

 _"Elrond," she wept, "I have failed in all else – let me at least be certain they will be safe."_

 _"You have not failed," Elrond choked. "You will watch over them yet as a mother should... picking them up if they stumble, guarding their slumber – in this, at least, you have not failed, and my heart tells me you will not."_

 _At last Celebrian raised her tear-stained eyes to her husband's face, and at the sight of her despairing, broken figure that relied on him still so heavily for support, the tears Elrond had stubbornly been holding back overflowed._

 _"Promise me," she begged. "Promise me you will watch them. Promise me you will keep them safe. And promise me..." A sob tore from her throat, and she dashed away her anguished tears with a trembling hand. "... promise me, Elrond, that you will bring them across the sea. Promise me that we will all be reunited again."_

 _Her voice broke and she could say no more, resting her forehead on her husband's shoulder as the force of her sobs shook her entire body. Elrond brought his arms up around her waist and held her tightly, desperately, and though his own voice was choked with his tears, he managed two words._

 _"I promise."_

That had been the last time he had seen her truly – holding from him a promise he had known all along he could not keep.

He wept uncontrollably, repeating her name over and over as if it were a lifeline. And Celebrian wept too, all else fading about them as, together, they cried for their child.

Elrond had no conception of the time that must have passed before he at last sat up. Instead of exhaustion, a burst of adrenaline flooded his veins, and he felt lightened in a strange way. It was as though a burden he had carried for years had finally dropped from his shoulders and rolled into darkness, and he released a tenuous sigh of relief.

"Celebrian?" Though his voice was no more than a whisper, it echoed through the room as if he had cried her name. Another echo joined it – a whisper, a faint whisper – the song of their joined hearts.

 _I am here, my love._

Elrond could see her no longer, but something buried deep within his heart murmured that she was present still. He closed his eyes and reached for her again, his words the very essence of humility. "I am sorry, meleth-nín."

He had expected silence, but it did not come. Instead, she spoke again. _Sorry for what, my love?_

Confusion sharpened his tone a little. "For everything, Celebrian, everything! I... I have failed you, failed your parents, and failed Elrohir. I made a promise to you, conscious I could not keep it. I have failed myself, for betraying your trust in me has shattered my trust in myself. There is everything to be sorry for!"

There was a moment of stillness before Celebrían's response came. _How have you failed Ada and Naneth, Elrond?_

Surprised and caught unprepared, Elrond fumbled for an answer. "Why... I could not heal you – I could not save you! You faded and I could not stop you, and I have caused your parents immeasurable grief by failing to protect their only child!"

There it was again – that word fail. Could he not even control his own words? Was he _that_ weak?

 _Elrond, stop._ Her voice, while still quiet, held a note of frustration. _Stop taking blame where no blame is due! You were not at fault. I sailed because my will was not strong enough to prevent me from fading; thus, the guilt is mine, not yours. You have not failed my parents in any way._

Elrond maintained a stubborn silence, unwilling simply to let go.

 _How did you fail Elrohir?_

He raised his head swiftly. "I allowed him to ride that day without first ascertaining that the path was safe. I was conscious of the presence of Orcs deep in the woods, yet I permitted him to go anyways. And now..." For the first time, his voice faltered, and he had to take a moment to steady it. "He is dying because of that."

 _You did not ensure his safety, but took it for granted – thus, some of the blame may fall on you,_ Celebrian answered softly. _But whose ultimate decision was it to go? Was Elrohir not aware of the Orcs?_

Elrond's tone lowered dangerously. "Are you saying I should blame him?"

 _I am not,_ she responded quietly. _I am saying only that equal blame, if there is any to be had, may rest on his shoulders as well as yours. His wounds are beyond your skill to heal, but even so, that is no shame on your part. Elrond, you know well that many things even the greatest cannot predict or restore. Your self-hatred is unbecoming and undeserved. Release it!_

Elrond found himself at a complete loss for words. He could barely manage one. "You..."

 _I?_ There was a brief pause. _If you have not failed my parents or Elrohir, Elrond, then how have you failed me?_

With those words, every unconnected strand slipped into its place, dispelling the confusion and despondency that had overcome Elrond's mind, and he choked back a cry of relief. He had been so blind, so clueless! He knew the danger of taking on undue guilt, and the self-loathing that came with it, and his very being quailed at the thought of how close he had come to succumbing to despair.

"I am sorry," he wept. "I am so, so sorry..."

At long last the room was still, and Elrond rubbed at his eyes to hide the last of his tears. The morning was waning, and he had not yet seen to Elrohir.

"Celebrian," he said softly, one last time. "I do not know what to do."

Celebrian paused, but her voice held the ring of conviction all the same. _Elrond, bring him to me._

* * *

Elrond walked slowly down the hall, his mind in a turmoil. Sail? The thought had never occurred to him, but now it was obvious that it was the only option. He simply could not allow Elrohir to die – it would kill Elladan, and he knew he could not survive the deaths of all his children.

Mithlond. A faraway expression entered his grey eyes as he thought of the lovely haven by the sea, ruled by his old friend Círdan, where the waves lapped at the bright sands in a never-ending dance... he had not been at Mithlond since Celebrían's sailing, and he was half afraid of the memories it would evoke.

A small smile curved his lips as he thought of his wife. For the first time in centuries, he would truly see her, vibrant and well, gloriously happy in a way he had not seen since before her capture. The Undying Lands had saved her. Surely they would save Elrohir, when all else had failed?

He gently twisted the knob of Elrohir's door and pushed it inwards, stepping softly into the room. His eyes softened as they fell on the bed. Elrohir lay in Arwen's arms, completely still but for an occasional... shiver? The first surmise that flashed to his mind was a result of long honing of his healer's instincts, and an expression of worry swiftly replaced his nostalgic smile.

Arwen turned as soon as she heard him enter, her eyes wide and frightened above her flushed cheeks. "Adar, please, come quickly!" Her voice was pleading and desperate, retaining nothing of the calmness she was known for.

Elrond sped up his steps and dropped down beside her on the bed, running skilled hands over Elrohir's forehead and cheeks. They were hot with fever, and glassy eyes stared, unseeing, at him. The breaths Elrohir drew were shallow and uneven, marred still further by an occasional gasp – of pain, or in an attempt to inhale, he could not tell.

In one swift movement, Elrond had cast his cumbersome robes to the side and slid both arms about his son's shoulders, easing him gently down onto the pillows. Elrohir let out a sob of pain, flinching away from his father as his raw back burned unceasingly.

"Tell me what happened," Elrond ordered his daughter brusquely as he reached for a cloth and the water Elcúron had brought earlier. He was only half paying attention to Arwen's voice as he bathed Elrohir's face and neck in the cool water, his surroundings whirling as fear drove his heart into his mouth.

"He said he was worth nothing, Adar," Arwen said pleadingly at length, laying her hand on his shoulder. "He believes we hate him."

Elrond's attention snapped back to her momentarily, staring at her as he comprehended her words.

 _"Worthless?"_ he breathed, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two. He felt for his bond with Elrohir, and came up against an impenetrable wall that neither budged nor yielded to his pleadings. All of a sudden, his son's gasping breaths seemed far more laboured than they really were, and Arwen's gentle voice dimmed, leaving the two – the father and the son – alone in a world that existed only for the two of them.

 _You are worthless worthless worthless..._

 _No..._ Elrohir struggled against the pain, barely seeing his father as Elrond bent over him. _They love me... they should not..._

 _Elrohir, look at me!_ Elrond commanded, forcing Elrohir's attention to focus on their bond.

 _He is angry. He hates me..._

Elrond knew that Elrohir responded better to kindness than to force, and he deliberately gentled his tone as he sensed his son's thoughts. "What lies have they been telling you, my elfling?"

Elrohir almost refused to answer, his eyes dark and shadowed as he tried to turn away, but Elrond held his face with both hands, preventing him from moving.

"Let me go... please..." Elrohir begged, his eyes filling with tears. "I am not worth it... I am not worth anything..."

"Again I ask you," Elrond said gently, ignoring his son's plea, "who has told you these things? Who has filled your mind with such lies?"

"Not lies," Elrohir whispered brokenly. "They are true."

Elrond drew back and gazed at the young face hidden against him. He cupped Elrohir's chin with one hand, compelling his son to look up at him again.

"That is a _lie_ ," he said firmly. "You are a joy, Elrohir, and a treasure. Don't you ever forget it."

Elrohir shook his head forcefully, but nearly cried out as the sudden movement aggravated the throbbing pain in his head. Why would his ada not understand? Why did he have to make it so difficult, why did he have to pretend? Pretending only made it hurt more.

 _I was too weak._

 _Even the strongest may be overpowered,_ Elrond countered swiftly.

 _Please, Adar,_ Elrohir begged, _just let me go._

As Elrond gazed helplessly down at his son, he saw a few tears leaking out from under Elrohir's dark lashes, trickling slowly down his pale cheeks. He forgot all else, and, careful not to jar his son's bruised body, slipped both arms about Elrohir and held him close.

Elrohir at first struggled against him, but as Elrond whispered tender nothings into his ear, he gradually relaxed and settled into his father's embrace. He was afraid of clinging to life, only a shadow of his former self, but he was even more afraid of being left alone. He could not help himself as his hand slowly moved to Elrond's and fastened tightly on it – he simply could not let go.

Elrond smiled softly as he felt his son's involuntary movement, but he respected Elrohir's grief and remained silent. He contented himself instead with stroking the dishevelled hair off Elrohir's forehead, rocking him gently back and forth.

Aye, his mother could bring him back, if nothing else could.

 **A/N:** Yay, chapter five is done! I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get it up today because I totally lost my inspiration since posting chapter four, but here it is right on time! Please read and review if you enjoyed it!


	6. At My Side

**Chapter Six**

At My Side

The first thing Elrohir became aware of was the unbearable heat. It was stifling him, cutting off his harsh gasps for air and unleashing panic on his already dazed mind. Only vaguely was he aware of gentle hands touching him, of cool cloths on his forehead and neck, and the voices that murmured garbled phrases back and forth. He could not open his eyes – they were too heavy, and he did not want to wake at all.

Unable to return to his dreams, Elrohir sank deeper into the soft bed and, in his weakened state, was unable to prevent the memories from returning. All of a sudden the surreal pain in his back became much more of a reality, and with a jolt of terror he found himself suddenly in the camp of the Orcs. He was still on his back, not having moved from where his captors had dropped him after his last beating. His heart pounded erratically, out of sync with his uneven breathing, and almost without his knowledge a few tears tracked their way down his grimy cheeks. Every inch of his body was suffused with fear, pain, and a dreadful uncertainty that hurt him more than anything else. What if no one came for him? What if they left him to die? How long would it take, how many more agonies would he be forced to endure?

A sudden burst of raucous laughter tore his attention from his thoughts, and his head jerked towards the Orcs. They sat hunched in a ragged circle, handling various objects that, with a stab of irrational rage, he recognised as his own. His sword, his knife, his quiver, and the bow he had received from his father on the day he was received into the Imladris Guard! Anger boiled within him and he made as if to sit up, but even so small a movement sent hot pain shooting up and down his body, and he fell back with a hiss of pain.

Then a shadow fell over him and fright filled his eyes, permanently dilated with a desperate fear he was too weak to hide. Already he could see the hideous face, the teeth drawn back in a fearsome snarl, and the look of almost maniacal pleasure as the creature basked in his obvious dread.

Elrohir's heart slowed to an impossibly slow cadence as fear, exhaustion, and finally bitter resignation took over. He did not care what they did to him. He did not care. He did not...

The Orc bent down, and Elrohir shied away with a bitten-back cry as he felt its hands on him. The Orc's eyes glinted, intrigued at the prospect of a struggle with the weakened Elf. Elrohir saw it and panicked. He twisted away, biting hard on his lip as his shredded back came in contact with the rough ground, and in his peripheral vision saw the Orc lumbering after him.

" _No..._ "

His moan was one of despair, tinged with growing terror, but it rose to a panicked scream as the Orc forced him down.

"No! Leave me alone! Get _away_!"

"...hir! Elrohir, wake _up_!"

Elrohir's eyes flew open, but momentarily blinded by the sudden light his fear did not diminish, only increased. He kicked out desperately, only minimally aware of the jolt as his foot connected with a firm body, and tore away from the forceful – yet gentle – hold on his shoulders.

"Elrohir!" A voice, soothing and calm in its quiet assurance, whispered close to his ear, and the same hands moved to cup his face. "Shh... all is well... wake up, Elrohir."

Wake up? It took more than a moment for his panicked brain to process what was being said. Gentle fingers moved in a comforting reassurance over his forehead, and Elrohir's pounding heartbeat finally slowed as the burst of adrenaline faded, leaving him spent and exhausted.

"Open your eyes, I am here..."

 _Here? Who is here?_

A second later his void bond was breached and opened, and Elrohir gasped as he sensed a presence more familiar than the very breath in his body. He lost himself to the overpowering sensation of safety, finally content to simply lie there, but the voice had gone on and he wearily forced himself to follow what was being said.

"... to me. Open your eyes, Elrohir."

Hesitantly he cracked his eyes open, letting them rove slowly about the room before finally settling on his twin's face. He at last felt the arm wrapped firmly about him, gentle beyond belief on his injured back. He read the expression in Elladan's eyes, and his throat caught.

"Elladan!" he choked.

"Elrohir," Elladan whispered, and his voice conveyed all he felt. Seeing his twin in such anguish of mind had left him emotionally overwrought, and the one thing that kept him from breaking down was the overriding knowledge that Elrohir needed his strength. He saw the terrified tears that Elrohir had not even tried to hide, knowing he would see them inevitably. It was too much. He could feel Elrohir's uncontrolled trembling and tightened his arm, bringing his twin even closer and giving limitlessly the comfort he so desperately needed.

"El-ro-hir..." he repeated tenuously.

Elrohir took one deep breath in a final attempt to regain his composure, but it came out in a hot rush of air.

"Elladan."

A few tears gleamed on his pale cheeks for a moment before a single touch of Elladan's fingers, brushing them away, released everything. Wordlessly he twisted in his twin's arms and hid his face in Elladan's shoulder, feeling trembling breaths as his twin's emotions finally caught up to him. He no longer cared what happened to him. He could bear it all if only Elladan was with him, if they faced it side-by-side. That was how it should be, and how it had been for years innumerable.

He heard his name repeated over and over between unsteady gulps for air, in between the tears that choked Elladan's voice. And he heard at last the five words that tore his ragged emotions to pieces.

"Elrohir, please, don't leave me..."

His tears overflowed and he wept helplessly, oblivious to all but the firm arms about him – the one thing keeping him from drifting away from the coldness of reality. He fisted one hand into Elladan's tunic, keeping the other wrapped tightly about his twin's neck, and tried to forget the pain as he relaxed in the comfort of his brother's embrace.

At last, when all his tears had been shed, Elladan pulled back exhaustedly. Eyes red-rimmed and shadowed, he took in what he could see of his twin. Elrohir's face was still buried tightly in his shoulder; the younger twin clung to him, refusing to loosen his hold. Despite the gravity of the situation, a grin flickered briefly about his mouth – how like Elrohir. His brother had always turned to him for strength and comfort, and while he himself was in desperate need of them, those were two things he simply could not deny Elrohir. It would be impossible, he reflected as he drew a ragged breath. He had never been able to refuse Elrohir anything.

A tiny voice came from his shoulder, and he glanced down quickly.

"E-El?"

Elladan ghosted his hand lightly over his twin's sable hair, managing a wobbly smile that faded as he saw the blind trust shining in Elrohir's eyes. It was too much! What in Arda had he ever done to deserve such a twin, to justify so complete a trust?

"El!" A little louder this time, Elrohir's voice was raspy and cracked. "Please... some water?"

Elladan inwardly berated himself for not having thought of it sooner, reaching for the half-empty glass beside the bed. He stopped as he realised their position – both were practically lying down, and the only thing he would accomplish by allowing Elrohir to drink thus would be a choking twin. Elrohir appeared to realise this too.

"I cannot – exactly drink – like this," he whispered, his tone laced with the dry humour that had always been his signature trademark.

Elladan cracked another grin, this time managing a real smile. "The thought had occurred to me also, títhen muindor," he responded cheekily, his voice only a little unsteady. "Shall we sit up?"

Elrohir's eyes met his for a brief instant, and the grey depths twinkled tentatively at him.

"Help me?"

Elladan took the extended hand and held it as with infinite gentleness he slid his other arm about his twin and lifted him. Despite his care, Elrohir's face went grey, and his breath caught harshly.

Elladan hastily helped his brother lean back against the pillows and crouched, watching him concernedly. "Ro?"

Elrohir's eyes had fluttered shut, but they reopened as Elladan cupped his chin and shook him ever so lightly.

"I... fine..." were the only two words he managed, well aware of how easily his twin would read his lie.

"I did not mean to hurt you," Elladan said softly, his joking spirit crushed by the new reminder of his brother's condition. "Ro, truly, I am..."

" _Iston_ ," Elrohir muttered impatiently. " _Gwanna ego._ "

Elladan jerked upright, his face suddenly scandalised. " _Leave off_ , you say? I trust that was but a silly mistake of my ears, Elrohir Peredhil!"

Elrohir sighed inwardly and turned his head away. He really did not feel up to arguing with his overwrought twin at the moment. He did not want to be fussed over, he only wanted someone to be with him – not to hover and cry unless they both wanted to. Elladan's horrified outburst was yet another haunting reminder of the nightmares that pursued him.

"It was a mistake," he murmured almost inaudibly, adding a half-hearted jibe. "You should have your ears checked, brother."

Elladan let out the breath he had been holding in a long sigh, and only then did he see his twin's unconcealed agitation.

"A mistake, aye," he whispered, "but the truth, nonetheless."

Elrohir appeared not to hear, or else ignored it. His hands were shaking again, and the incessant ache in his head had returned with a vengeance. He felt _awful_.

"El?" The monosyllable came out in a moan, and he turned feverishly-bright eyes to his twin. "I feel... bad..."

A frown gripped Elladan's features, and he placed a hand worriedly against Elrohir's forehead. "Ai," he sighed. "Your fever has returned."

He let his eyes roam swiftly about the room, trying to force down the fear that had arisen again in the pit of his stomach. As a warrior, with long years of training as a healer, he knew just how serious this could be to Elrohir in his critical condition. After Elrond had finally managed to break Elrohir's fever earlier that morning, he had sought out Celeborn and Elladan in his study and explained to them just what the consequences of another relapse might bring. He recalled the conversation rather nauseatingly clearly. Elrohir needed his father's care quickly – but he could not bring himself to leave his twin now.

"Elrohir." He forced himself to stay calm, steadying his voice and assuming an air of confidence simply for his twin's sake. "Your fever has returned, so you will not be feeling quite up to a warg hunt just yet, but..." He paused, for Elrohir's lips had moved silently, and one pair of grey eyes sought the other.

"Ro?"

"I am not..." Elrohir repeated, forming the words with difficulty; "... I am not going... on a hunt... again."

Elladan was about to deny his twin's words when, with a sickening jolt, he realised their truth.

Why did everything he said have to hurt Elrohir more?

His mind in a turmoil, Elladan bit his lip. Hard. And let out a hiss as his teeth broke the skin. A few drops of blood trickled down his chin and he wiped it quickly away with both eyes on his twin. Elrohir had seen enough blood.

"Please, El," Elrohir muttered pleadingly, trying to ignore his pounding headache and the nauseous rolling of his stomach. "Thirsty."

This pulled Elladan's focus back to his twin and he reached again for the glass, pushing Elrohir's hand away when his brother reached automatically for it.

"Do not be foolish," he said softly, and Elrohir gave a tiny grin that turned suddenly into a frown.

 _I... will... not... be... sick... I... will... not..._

His resolve quickly dissolving, he leaned forward hastily and expelled the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Even that small movement exhausted him, and he leaned against the bedpost, gasping for breath as the throbbing in his head flamed into a deafening pounding. He ignored Elladan's arms as they closed lightly about him, and paid little attention to the cool cloth being wiped over his face. Such pain... it could not be real; such horrible discomfort and fear – if the Valar truly loved their children, they would not permit them to suffer so.

"Elrohir, ion-nín, can you open your eyes?"

Elrohir only moaned, apprehensive of the possible consequences any movement might bring. He was sick – did no one understand what that was? If he moved now, he would regret it for... well, the rest of the day... but every day seemed unending to him now. Inwardly steeling his resolve to refuse any more requests, he wondered when silence fell instead.

Then there were hands about his waist, lifting him, and he panicked almost instantly. _Valar, what are they doing!_ his mind screamed, and he struggled frantically against the arms about him. It seemed an age before he was let down again on the pillows, and he lay in a fit of extreme worry, eyes clenched tightly shut, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to disappear.

At last, finally having convinced himself that he would not upset his stomach again, Elrohir opened his eyes. He looked first into the eyes of his twin, gazing down at him with a mix of pity and concern staining his features, and then his father's worried face appeared in his line of vision. His eyesight was blurry, and it took him a moment to recognise Elrond.

"Adar?" he muttered plaintively. "I am so, _so_ , sorry."

He heard an amused chuckle and raised a tired eyebrow. Elrond smiled down at him, but his father's hands were busy unlacing his tunic and feeling his forehead gently. He looked slightly worried at what he found, but only bent to press a comforting kiss to his son's cheek.

"How do you feel now?" he asked sympathetically.

Elrohir shrugged, sure that his father already knew. "Not good." His voice rasped, and he gazed longingly at the glass of water in Elladan's hand. So close, yet so far...

Elrond read his expression from long years of experience, and took the glass from his eldest, lifting Elrohir carefully so he could drink. He noticed with growing worry the steady rising fever. This was not good.

 _Bring him to me._ He replayed his wife's words over and over again in his head, filled with a sudden desperate hope. Could Celebrian heal Elrohir? Surely the Valar would not be so cruel as to take their son and brother from them.

A shiver wracked Elrohir's form, and he burrowed deeper into his father's arms. Cold... He was freezing all of a sudden, shuddering violently as he took several trembling breaths. Something warm pressed against his cheek for a moment, and he ducked his head, resting it on Elrond's shoulder. He reached with one hand for the blanket still wrapped about his legs, but could not get a hold of it. Frustrated, he was about to try again when his father's fingers grasped his and pulled his hand back.

"Do not try it, títhen pen," Elrond's voice said softly in his ear, but mixed with his headache and dizziness he barely understood a word. He caught the gist of it from his father's tone though, and with a sigh he leaned back and allowed his father to support him again.

"Adar, did you drug him?" Elladan asked quietly, noticing his twin's dazed, jerky movements.

Elrond shook his head, tugging lightly on the sleeve of Elrohir's tunic to get it off. "His temperature is too high for that." He paused, eyeing his oldest son closely. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do until we arrive at the Havens."

Elladan stopped dead at his father's words, his eyes suddenly dark. "To the Havens!" he repeated incredulously.

Elrond lifted the tunic over his younger son's head and sighed as he spotted the fresh blood staining the bandages. Elladan dropped to his knees beside the bed, staring in horror at his twin. Head still hidden against Elrond's tunic, his legs curled tightly beneath him, Elrohir looked so very small and vulnerable, and with his new mindset Elladan could see a thousand reasons why his father had made this decision. Only one thing struck him.

Why had they not thought of this before?

He drew a trembling breath and reached out slowly towards his twin, pulling the blanket up to Elrohir's shoulders. So much pain could have been spared his brother if he had thought of this most obvious course.

"Elladan?"

He looked up quickly, meeting his father's worried eyes. He wanted to smile, to assure his father he was all right, but he could not.

Leave Arwen and Aragorn? Valar forbid! He and Elrohir had sworn to stay until their sister had succumbed to her mortality, and to leave her alone, once Aragorn had died, would bring her even more pain in her last days.

He looked again at his twin. Dark hair fell tangled over one shoulder, framing a pale face flecked with two spots of red on either cheek. Elrohir's eyes were closed, and his breathing was laboured, but Elladan could tell his brother was awake.

For Elrohir... but only for Elrohir... he would be brave. He lifted his eyes to meet his father's gaze and managed a small smile.

"I will get Arwen."

* * *

Two days later, night was just falling as Elrond stepped out into the courtyard of Imladris. The sky shone brightly, shot with stars flung as random diamonds over a dark cloak, and the trees waved softly in the gentle wind. He did not dare to look around – to see the place that had been home to him for three ages shrouded in darkness, abandoned save for the few Elves standing about the horses before him. Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir... golden hair gleamed by raven, mingling with brown. They were his closest friends, never abandoning him through the years of trial. They had seen it all through at his side.

The flickering flame of a torch caught his eye. Then another. And another.

They were leaving, and Imladris would burn.

The stars wheeled over Elrond's head, glimmering a frosty white in the sky. Behind him he heard a soft footfall, and turned to see his eldest son. The shadows played over Elladan's face, torn by too many emotions to read as he gazed down at the still form of his twin, held close to his chest. Close behind him came Celeborn and Galadriel, clad in grey and white, and at her grandmother's side walked Arwen, her face as pale as death.

Keeping his eyes from his sons, Elrond nodded to Glorfindel. The Balrog-slayer mounted his horse and cantered from the courtyard, followed by his two companions. The separated family stood, together for the last time, in the shadow of Imladris.

Elrond let his eyes rove desperately about him, resting them anywhere but where his family stood. He was not ready to say goodbye, not ready to leave!

 _My people are fading._ His own words came back to him, and at last he looked upon his daughter with the wisdom of two ages.

 _Arwen, there is nothing for us here._

She seemed to read his thoughts in his intense gaze, and certainly she felt his divided heart.

 _We have nothing,_ her quiet voice replied, _if not Hope._

And Hope was why she had stayed.

Elrond drew a shuddering breath and finally turned to face them.

"We must leave," he whispered, his voice rough and broken, carrying easily through the night. He felt each of their eyes upon him, but he did not waver. "It is time."

Then Galadriel smiled – a sad, pain wracked smile – and she turned to her granddaughter and enfolded her in a gentle embrace. Celeborn waited a moment before tugging lightly on his wife's arms and pulling Arwen to him for a brief moment. Then he released her and turned her towards Elrond, and father and daughter stood, petrified. Pain radiated from Elrond's very being – anguish that was magnified a hundred times over before either finally made a move.

Then, "Adar?"

Arwen's voice was torn with longing, with love and a desperate fear of being left alone. It was a tone which no father could possibly resist, and Elrond was no different. With a harsh, broken cry, he closed the small distance left between them in two short strides, and held her close.

More love, more understanding was poured into that final embrace than could ever have been imagined. Tears burned behind Elrond's eyes, but they refused to flow. His grief was such that mere tears could not relieve it; he simply held her, feeling her trembling uncontrollably as she clung desperately to him.

"One moment more," he muttered huskily into her hair, "and I could not let you go."

He released her jerkily and stepped back quickly, gazing at her lovely face, memorising again every feature. "I am sorry," he whispered helplessly. "I love you, child."

Taking an unsteady breath, Arwen turned towards her brothers, her eyes dark and pleading in the twilight. For a moment a plea fraught with desperation flickered upon her lips, asking them – _begging_ them – to stay with her. But she had made her choice, and they had made theirs. This was truly the end.

Elrohir felt himself being gently lifted from his twin's arms, and panicked momentarily before realising it was his Daeradar who now held him. It was through a haze of blackness that he saw his sister practically collapse in Elladan's arms, burying her face tightly in the crook of his neck as she fought to hold back her tears.

And the only conscious thought that slipped through his dazed mind was one of confusion.

Why was Arwen crying?

Then Celeborn's arms tightened briefly as the older Elf lowered himself to his knees, his eyes fluttering closed as he managed a struggling breath. His head fell against his grandfather's shoulder, and he let out a hitched gasp as pain flashed through his entire body.

"Rohir?"

He forced his eyes open again, but it was a moment before his surroundings finally stopped whirling and he was able to see. Hair, black as the night about him, brushed lightly against his face, and gentle, if shaking, hands stroked his cheek.

"Arwen," he murmured, reaching out his hand, but dropping it before he could even touch her. His eyes met hers, and within the space of a heartbeat he had read her grief-stricken expression. Forgetting all else, he jerked upright and grasped at her shoulders, but firm hands lowered him down against Celeborn's chest once more. A low voice spoke soothingly in his ear as he gazed desperately at his sister's face.

"Elrohir, no... lie still, child!"

"Arwen!" he cried, reaching out again, tears choking his voice. "Don't go... no, please..."

Arwen swiftly moved forward and grasped his hand lightly, letting her tears fall upon it as she managed a trembling smile down at her brother. "Elrohir, listen to me, brother? Please?"

Surrendering reluctantly to his grandfather, Elrohir ceased fighting but his grey eyes never left his sister's face.

 _No... please, no..._

"Listen to me, Elrohir." Arwen repeated the phrase like a mantra, smoothing dark hair from her brother's forehead in a gentle caress, hoping that after enough repetition Elrohir might finally calm himself.

"Why?" he whispered helplessly, pleadingly, begging for some sort of an explanation, however unsatisfactory it might be. "Why are you doing this?"

"It was my _choice_ ," Arwen murmured softly, slipping tender arms about his neck and drawing his head down to rest on her shoulder. "Please understand, Elrohir, I need you to understand..."

Elrohir's only response was to bury his face in her thick hair, allowing a few tears to leak through his dark lashes. Cold hands sought comfort in Arwen's, and she tightened her grasp.

"I love him, Elrohir," Arwen said softly, kissing his temple. "I love him more than life himself. Without him I would be incomplete, I care not what price I have paid for this. The one thing I regret..." Her voice wavered, and she took a deep breath to steady it. "The one thing I regret is the pain this causes you. All of you."

She raised her head and gazed at the four Elves gathered in a loose circle about them. "Please forgive me," she whispered.

"Arwen, do not seek to justify your actions." Elladan knelt swiftly and gathered both of them in his arms, the light of the torches casting a strange light on his pale face. "We knew it would come to this, we knew we would be separated. We knew you would find love in a mortal's arms, and though it is difficult we have come to accept it." He hesitated, hating to say his next words, but he knew he had to. "Arwen, please, we must go."

He moved back hesitantly, assessing her as if to gauge her reaction, before wrapping a strong arm about Elrohir and lifting him again. Elrohir closed his eyes, breathing hard. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, and he hurt so much it was almost unbearable.

Arwen rose slowly to her feet and followed her family as they left the courtyard. Glorfindel and the others were by the gate; the horses stood quietly, tossing their heads and letting the gentle wind flow through their manes. Beyond the reach of the walls the dark forest loomed ahead, but the birds were silent and no forest animals scrambled through the undergrowth. It was utterly and completely still.

Elrond swiftly mounted his horse and held out his arms for Elrohir, trying not to glance at Arwen as she stood alone by the gate. He felt his son's forehead, trying to establish whether he was feverish or not, but the constantly shifting breeze made it difficult to decide. Sighing a little, he wrapped Elrohir in his cloak and pulled him closer.

In one fluid motion Elladan leaped onto his horse and cantered to his father's side, and at the same time Aragorn and his escort rode down the hill, leading Arwen's horse with them. The escort drew up a little ahead of the Peredhel family and stopped, but Aragorn continued to Elrond's side.

"Estel," Elrond said softly. Aragorn lifted his head and met his father's eyes, and a long glance was exchanged.

"Adar," he responded softly.

"You know all I have wished for her," Elrond said in a low voice. "Do not forget it once we are gone."

Aragorn smiled, but there was no mirth in his expression, no sparkle in his grey eyes. "I love her, and I will always hold her," he murmured. "I swear this to you, Adar."

Elrond nodded briefly, relieved, but the pain in his eyes did not diminish. "Take her then," he whispered harshly. "Take her, _now_."

Arwen was already at her husband's side, her fingers tangled in her palfrey's mane as she pulled herself gracefully up.

"Go," Elrond cried, unconsciously hugging Elrohir closer. "Go now – and do not look back."

With a choked sob, Arwen turned her horse towards Gondor, and Aragorn followed his wife. They paused for a moment on the crest of the hill, and the Elves saw Arwen half-turn, as though she would ride back.

"Arwen, meleth-nín, you must come," Aragorn begged, grasping her wrist tightly. "I promised him, please, he is watching you. Do not hurt him more."

The Queen turned her eyes towards the south once more, and her tears overflowed at last. _"_ _Ónen i-Estel Edain,"_ she whispered brokenly. _"_ _Ú_ _-chebin Estel anim."_

Elrond held his daughter in his gaze until she disappeared beyond the hill, and then he turned back to the Elves behind him. His face shone palely in the midnight darkness, his eyes fraught with an almost dangerous light.

"Ride," he ordered, his voice clear and ringing in the silent night. "Light the walls and ride!"

There was a moment of silence before anyone spoke.

"Please..." Elrohir's voice was no more than a dry mumble, drawing his father's attention. "Cold..."

Elrond frowned in concern, feeling Elrohir's hand. It was burning hot.

Without a word, he spurred his horse to a gallop and never looked back to ensure he was followed. He could not. He could not see Imladris abandoned – what had been his home for the last three Ages, its halls and windows darkened, completely desolate but for the one spark of flame as it kindled into a raging fire. Glorfindel hurled the torches over the wall and galloped after his lord.

As the others followed, the smoke arose from the Elven home and dissolved ominously into the night.

 **Elven Translations:**

Iston – I know

Gwanna ego – Leave off

Ónen i-Estel Edain, Ú-chebin Estel anim – I gave hope to the Dúnedain; I have kept no hope for myself.

 **A/N:** Before anything else, I am _so_ sorry for taking this long to post! :( No chapter in any story I've ever written has ever taken me this long to finish, so if it seems rushed or not-like-me, please (please, please) leave a PM or review to tell me and I'll do my best to revise it.

That said, I desperately hope you enjoy, and please do review if you happen to! (See? My poetry is amazing!)


	7. Into the West

**Chapter Seven**

Over the Sea

The sun sank slowly in the western sky, staining the clouds scarlet and golden under its tender caress. The sky was blue, flecked with wisps of white, and the tree branches swayed lightly in the gentle wind. With the fresh, sweet air came a new smell – the salty tang of the sea.

Elladan gazed about himself, revelling in the lush beauty of the Havens. He could not yet see the Sea, but he could hear it pounding against the shore – the never-ending rush of foaming waves beating against the rocks and the white sands, the haunting cry of the gulls as they swooped over the wide expanse of water.

Elrond did not pause to look around as he drew abreast of his oldest son, his face drawn and pale as his gaze flickered continually between Elrohir and the walls of Mithlond ahead. Seeing his father's barely-hidden concern, Elladan glanced back at his twin. He had kept their bond open for most of the trip to strengthen Elrohir, but now he realised that it was empty.

"Elrohir!" Fear slipped into his tone, and he urged his horse alongside Elrond's, ignoring his grandparents as they rode up behind. His twin's body was practically hidden from sight, wrapped thickly in Elrond's cloak – all he could see was a lock of dark hair that had escaped from his braid.

"Elladan," Elrond said quietly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "He is asleep."

Elladan breathed a sigh of relief, the irrational terror he had felt already dying away. "Sorry," he murmured thickly.

Elrond smiled lightly, releasing Elladan's fingers with another gentle squeeze. But when his son had turned away, Elrond glanced down again at Elrohir, and a frown crept over his face. Elrohir was hot – far too hot. His fever had been growing steadily since their departure from Imladris over a week before, and he had barely had a moment's respite from the agonising pain in his back, weakening him still further. Elrond had been unable to lessen his son's pain in any way at all, and he had felt incredibly helpless simply watching Elrohir suffering and knowing he could do nothing about it.

He let out an inaudible sigh as they drew up before the open gates, finally loosening his gaze and looking around as they galloped through the archway. Mithlond had changed much since last they had been there. The road before them was empty, the dwellings abandoned – the incessant pounding of the waves and the cry of the gulls was all to be heard over the clipping of the horses' hooves.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before at last another gate arched above them and they reined in before the home of Círdan, lord of Mithlond. Glistening fountains tossed their foamy spray over and over again, the grass lush and fresh. The air was filled with the aroma of growing plants, the trees heavy, their boughs laden with leaves and fruits as the summer faded to autumn and they grew all the faster. Elladan gazed in wonderment about himself, his breath momentarily stolen by the beauty of it all – and so he did not notice the figure standing in the porch of the house until his father let out a cry of joy.

"Círdan!"

Elladan's head jerked up, and he saw a tall Elf, a long beard trailing down his chest, white hair framing an ageless, beautiful face. Blue eyes gazed at them, their frosty glint softened by a glimmer of unquenched joy and a twinkle of humour. The voice, when it came, was entirely unexpected – the younger Peredhil had expected a tone harsh with age, if such a thing could be possible of an Elf, but it was clear and fair. It rang with a power not unlike Elrond's own – a quality characteristic of only the greatest of the Elven-lords of Arda.

"Elrond, my friend!" Círdan smiled in greeting, stretching both hands towards his old friend. "It has been many long years since I saw you last."

A shadow passed over Elrond's face, but at the same time his eyes lightened – as though something that brought him pain also brought him joy, and Elladan knew it was of Celebrian he thought.

"A long time indeed," Elrond replied, his smile spreading. "But you have not changed at all, mellon-nín."

"Nor you." Círdan's eyes sparkled again, but they sobered when he at last took notice of the figure lying in his friend's arms. Elrond followed his gaze and lifted Elrohir slightly, so his cloak finally uncovered the pale face beneath.

"This is why we are here," he said softly. "We must take ship."

* * *

Elrond set Elrohir down on the bed with a sigh of relief, flexing his sore arms as Elladan gently pulled the covers up about his twin's shoulders. Círdan stood silently in the doorway, watching them with sad eyes. The last time he had seen Elrohir, the younger Elf had been a vibrant, happy being – an absolute joy to be around, and if he could help it he never allowed his spirits to be dampened. But now the light of his fëa was dimmed as it threatened to fail completely, and the bright eyes were hooded and weary.

The Peredhils would sail the next day, in a final attempt to save Elrohir's life – to somehow bring back the joy that had been an integral part of their life for as long as they could remember. In Elrond's eyes Círdan read the same desperation that had marked his friend in the days before Celebrian had sailed, and the fey grief that had stained his face for years following. And in his heart he knew that Elrond could not stand the loss of yet another so dear to him. He had lost his wife and his daughter – he could not lose his son.

Elrond's voice pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up, meeting his old friend's tired eyes. "Is it possible to find bedding for those who have come with us, Círdan?"

"Of course." Círdan managed a smile, tearing his eyes from Elrohir's still form, and turned to the Elves still standing behind him. "Come with me, please."

Once the door had been closed behind them, Elrond turned to Elladan. "We should check the bandages..." His voice trailed off into a sigh of utter misery as his oldest son let out a small moan at the mere suggestion.

Elrohir shifted a little, his face showing clearly his discomfort. In a state of waking dreams, caught between slumber and reality, he only vaguely heard his father's voice, but even the smallest sound irritated his head. He could not find the strength to protest, hoping they would leave him alone, but when tender hands turned him slightly he knew at once he would not be able to sleep again. A half-hearted attempt at batting them away was rendered useless when another set of hands simply caught his fingers and held them, but the grip was comforting, not restrictive, and he returned the pressure weakly.

But when the ache in his back blossomed to fresh pain under a gentle touch, he did manage to open his eyes. He was lying half on his side and half on his stomach, his face pressed into a cool pillow, but his relative comfort did nothing to balance the pain he felt. As Elrond's skilled fingers searched his back he clenched his teeth, but he could not prevent a moan from escaping his lips. The grip on his hand tightened, and a gentle voice spoke soothingly into his ear, effectively distracting him from the pain.

"Elladan?" he muttered tiredly. In his peripheral vision he could see his twin's face, but it was nearly unrecognizable behind the haze that covered his eyes.

"Aye, 'tis me," Elladan replied, his tone a little concerned. "How do you feel, Ro?"

"I do not..." Elrohir licked his dry lips while he searched for words to describe his condition. "I do not think... you want to know..."

Elladan gave a small smile at his twin's weak attempt at humour, smoothing stray hairs from Elrohir's forehead with a tender hand. Elrohir leaned into even that fleeting touch, his eyes exhausted and torn with pain.

"Don't go," he murmured, pulling Elladan closer.

Elladan's smile widened, although it was laced with grief, and he slipped an arm about Elrohir's shoulders to lightly pull his twin's head onto his lap. "I won't," he promised softly.

Elrond rose from his knees, surveying the bruised expanse of Elrohir's back unhappily. The infection was spreading swiftly, he could tell, both from his son's steadily rising fever and from the new bruises, caused by the thinned blood. He sighed. If only he knew the antidote to the poison!

Bending a little, he pressed his hand to Elrohir's forehead, and his frown deepened. Quick eyes took in his son's feverishly-bright eyes, the flushed cheeks, and the light sheen of sweat coating his heated skin.

He stumbled backwards into the chair behind him, rubbing his eyes. They had ridden long and hard since the morning, for they had been determined to reach Mithlond before the sun set. So long a ride had been hard on Elrohir – he had been barely lucid but that did not stop him from voicing the pain that wracked his body.

He let out a sigh before raising his head to look at Elladan. The older twin still sat bent over his brother, one hand on his cheek, the other still holding Elrohir's limp hand. Dark eyes, inexpressibly weary, met his even as Elrond turned to him, and as Elladan opened his mind Elrond read the desperation, the palpable fear that emanated from him in waves. One glance down at Elrohir, and Elrond knew his younger son slept. His gaze returned to Elladan, and he smiled wearily.

"Come here, child."

Elladan only hesitated a moment before carefully laying Elrohir back on the pillow and slipping off the bed. Elrond straightened a little, reaching out a hand to his son, and Elladan took it, letting his father draw him in, not caring that his own hands trembled like a child's, not minding the tears that were already rising in his eyes. He sank to his knees at his father's feet, resting his head on Elrond's knee and drawing a tenuous breath.

"Are you all right, child?" Elrond asked softly, stroking the dark hair that had slipped from its customary braids.

Elladan simply looked at him, letting his father read him. He no longer cared if he embarrassed himself by crying, close as he was to breaking down under his father's hypnotising touch; he only wanted comfort. His breath caught as he saw his own misery and grief mirrored in Elrond's eyes, only his father's grief was a hundred times deeper than his own. To his surprise, Elrond's mind was not tightly shielded and he let his emotions flow through their physical contact, abruptly breaking the spell his fingers held over Elladan. A moment was all it took before Elladan broke down, and finally the tears came, faster and faster, uncontrolled and desperate as he buried his face in Elrond's lap and simply wept.

"Penneth," Elrond whispered, but Elladan only shook his head, gripping his father's hands tightly. He barely comprehended the feeling of being lifted by strong arms and cradled against Elrond's chest, his eyes locked on the still figure on the bed across the room.

"I know you are tired of being brave. I know you are tired of being strong. I _know_." Elrond caressed Elladan's cheek lightly with his fingertips, catching the tears that rolled swiftly through his son's dark lashes. "But, Elladan, think who it is you are fighting for. It is Elrohir you must be strong for. It is for your Naneth, for think how she would hate to see her brave warrior broken thus. It is your sister, for Arwen knows she will see us no more."

A hitched breath was the only answer he received, though he had expected no more.

"Elladan," he said quietly, "I need your strength as well. Seeing you wander in such bottomless depression breaks my heart, as if it were not torn enough by Elrohir's pain. If for no one else, child, be strong for your brother. Please, do not give up hope when another course still lies open to us. We must trust that the Undying Lands will heal Elrohir as they did your Naneth."

"I miss her." Elladan's voice trembled, stripped of all pretensions of impassivity and confidence. "She always made things better."

"I know, penneth," Elrond murmured, touched by the vulnerability of the child he held. "That is what mothers are for – she will make this all right, too. She told you to keep faith and remain strong, as you have for so many centuries. Just a little longer, elfling."

"The... the tales..." Elladan's tears came faster, his voice fraught with misery. "The tales... spoke of bravery... and strength... and of holding true to the end... But they never – _ever_ – said it would be so hard..." He was crying in earnest now, his breath coming in shuddering gulps as his shoulders shook. "It _hurts_... so much... I cannot hold on anymore..."

"I know, Elladan, I know." Elrond fought to keep his voice steady and soothing. "I know it is hard. But it is all right to weep, for not all tears are an evil. Be at peace, little one." His fingers trailed over Elladan's temple, stroking back his son's dark hair gently. "You must be strong for Elrohir, child, he needs you so much."

Elladan opened his eyes at last, settling them trustingly on his father's face. "He..." His voice trembled and he struggled with the overpowering fear that had tormented him for days. "He will be all right... won't he?"

Elrond was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. He knew that Elladan was already aware of Elrohir's condition, but he could not refuse his son the reassurance he so desperately needed.

"Adar?"

"I cannot lie to you," he said regretfully. "I do not know."

* * *

The next day passed slowly for all the Elves. The grief that hung over them was a tangible cloud, one that never abated nor held any hope of relief. They wandered through the woodland surrounding the abandoned city, but they avoided the sea. No songs arose in the fading afternoon; no haunting melodies were carried on the wind, losing themselves in the trees. Mithlond was silent – deathly silent.

 _The darkness will not endure._

Elrond sighed as he stood at the window, watching the sun creep towards the horizon.

 _There will be joy._

He turned back to Elrohir, watching his child sleep.

 _There will be peace._

Peace? He fought a bitter urge to laugh. Since when had there ever been peace? Elrohir had never known peace.

 _And there will be love._

He crossed the room in a few swift strides and bent over Elrohir even as his son stirred in the midst of some restless dream.

Love?

 _All three I promise you._ The words flew, echoing, through the room. _All three – but the greatest of these is love._

Lying carefully behind Elrohir, he wrapped both his arms about his son's waist and pulled him close. And Elrohir relaxed, peaceful at last.

* * *

" _You thought you could escape, stupid Elf."_

 _Elrohir fought to open his eyes, fought to breathe as the strangling grip about his neck tightened. Stars flashed through the darkness, and he panicked, fighting desperately against the Orc's cruel grip._

 _"But we have you now," it sneered. "Oh, yes, we have you now."_

 _No! No, no, no!_

 _Just before the darkness took him, the last thing he heard was that frightful hiss, the Orc's foul breath stifling the last of his breath._

 _"And we will not let you go."_

Elrohir jerked upright, trembling. He sucked in a few involuntary breaths just to assure himself that the fierce grip on his neck was gone, but something was still wrapped tightly about him, and in his panicked state of mind he lashed out, terrified. He gasped as warm hands grasped his and pulled him back against a hard, comforting warmth. An overwhelming sense of safety flowed over him, and he abruptly went limp, exhausted.

"Elrohir, calm down, child."

"Adar," he whispered, uncertain at first, but as he became more aware he let out a sigh of relief. "Adar!"

"Shh, I am here," Elrond soothed. "It was only a dream. I am here with you, Elrohir, sleep now."

His father's gentle reassurances were the last thing he heard before he drifted back into peaceful dreams.

* * *

Elrohir awoke again in darkness, warm and secure in his father's embrace, but his eyes were heavy and he longed to return to sleep. He leaned back, wincing as a twinge of pain snaked through his torso, but he lay still and it disappeared after a moment.

"Elrohir?" Elrond's soft voice trembled, it seemed to Elrohir, but he shrugged it off. Adar _never_ cried.

"Are you awake?"

But it was quivering now, there was no doubt of it. Even the hands clasped about his waist shook a little, gripped by some emotion he could not comprehend.

"Adar..." He moved his aching head slightly to press a kiss to the arm resting against his cheek. "I will be fine."

Elrond could no longer hide his tears at this. He bent his head to Elrohir's and kissed his forehead lightly, cradling him carefully.

"I pray it will be so," he whispered brokenly. "I love you, Elrohir."

Elrohir smiled slowly, curling into a more comfortable position as he felt himself drifting back into sleep. But all the same Elrond heard the words his son murmured into the darkness.

"As I love you."

Elrond fell into a light doze, holding his injured son close to him with both arms. For the most part Elrohir lay still, but now he tossed restlessly, as though hounded by evil dreams, and Elrond jerked to wakefulness, ever watchful of the child he held.

"Elrohir," he whispered, tightening his gentle embrace consolingly.

"Adar..." Elrohir moaned, only half-waking and clinging tightly to his father's arm. "Naneth..."

"You will see her soon," Elrond promised, smiling as his son's stiff body relaxed a little.

"Soon?" Elrohir's voice was naught but a cracked whisper. "See... Naneth?"

"Yes, títhen pen," Elrond assured him quietly. "Your Naneth will be there in Valinor when we arrive."

Elrohir's eyes remained tightly closed. "Ar-Arwen?"

Elrond's heart throbbed painfully at the mention of his daughter, but he held back his tears and stroked his son's cheek lightly. "No, Elrohir – Arwen cannot be there."

"Elladan!" Elrohir's eyes flew open and he tensed. "Elladan... too?"

"Yes, my elfling," Elrond whispered comfortingly. "Elladan will be there."

Elrohir's words came in short gasps as he struggled to breathe, shuddering painfully with the effort it took to speak. "You... be... there..."

"I will be there," murmured Elrond, and Elrohir relaxed as his father's fingers caressed him lightly. "Sleep now, child. We leave shortly."

* * *

An hour later, all the Elves stood on the dock. The setting sun flared over the sea at their backs, and the grey ship proudly rode the waves at anchor.

Círdan stepped slowly from the House and his keen eyes roved over the group. Then he took his place before them, and raised his voice.

"Elrond Eärendilion!"

"My lord?" Elrond's voice was strong, and trembled only a little.

"You have begged leave to sail from these shores forever. The Valar have granted you this wish. Do you desire me to hold you to it?"

"I do."

Círdan bowed his head, and Elrond stepped back.

"Elladan Elrondion."

Elladan stepped forward, meeting the older Elf's gaze unflinchingly.

"You profess to have made the choice granted to the Peredhils, as did your father and his brother before you. Do you desire that you, and your descendants, be reckoned among the Firstborn in Valinor?"

"I do," Elladan replied.

Círdan smiled. "Your choice has been accepted."

Elladan bowed, and rejoined his father and brother.

"Elrohir Elrondion," Círdan said in a low voice, his eyes seeking out the younger Elf cradled against Glorfindel's chest. Elrond gently lifted his son from Glorfindel's arms and took his place before the Shipwright. Círdan looked long upon Elrohir's pale face, and his eyes softened.

"Títhen pen," he said quietly, drawing Elrohir's tired eyes to his face. "Have you made your choice?"

Elrohir nodded weakly against his father's shoulder, and Elrond bent so his head brushed against his child's. Elrohir whispered something in his father's ear, then dropped limply back.

"He has," Elrond replied, his voice shaking slightly. "He desires to be numbered among the Firstborn."

Círdan sighed, as if in relief, and stepped back. "Then I proclaim to all that the fate of the Peredhil line has been ordained, and their choices irreparably made. Eru holds them to their vow, and may his blessings go with you."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Círdan inclined his head toward the ship.

Still none dared to make a move. The sun sank deeper into the west, colouring the tossing waves blood-red beneath its rays.

Finally Elladan stepped forward and wrapped his arms impulsively about Círdan, resting his head briefly on the older Elf's shoulder before moving again to his father's side. He slipped his arms gently about his twin and lifted Elrohir from his father's arms to his own.

Then Elrond enfolded the Shipwright in a tight embrace, but after a moment he stepped back and opened the palm he had clenched in a fist since he first approached the ship. In it lay a great ring, its blue gem capturing the fading light and meshing it within the depths of the stone.

"What use, mellonamin, have I for Vilya?" Círdan asked softly, drawing back a little so he could meet his old friend's troubled gaze.

"None, I know." Elrond's voice was laced with doubt. "But no more have I." He paused, never sparing a glance at the trinket he held, before he continued. "One of the Three it is, mellon-nín, and powerful to those who possess the strength to wield it. As I did. But 'tis only a burden to one who sails to reunite his family in the West. As I do."

Círdan maintained a pregnant silence, gazing deeply at Elrond. Then he reached out his hand and grasped Vilya.

"Once it was given you, Elrond. Do you freely release your hold on it now?"

"I do," Elrond said steadily.

Cirdan laughed shortly, but it was not a merry sound. "Then Arda has no need of the Ring of Air. Let its master accept it."

Before either had time to draw a breath, he cast the ring upon the stones at his feet. Vilya shattered into a thousand pieces; its light destroyed, its power fled.

Círdan clasped Elrond's hand firmly, then turned him to face the twins and the sea.

"The ship awaits, mellon-nín."

Elrond paused briefly, then slipped his arm about Elladan's shoulders and drew him towards the ship. Glorfindel and the other Rivendellian folk followed slowly.

The ancient twilight deepened into dusk as the ship sailed from Mithlond, and the stars peeped timidly out, burning their shining path across the heavens as night fell on Arda.

 **A/N:** Hi everyone! *looks around proudly* I'm back, after only six days, compared to the last chapter's 21-day hiatus! (Well, not really a hiatus, but whatever.) I hope you like this chapter, it was written in a sudden (and _very_ random) burst of inspiration and so if something doesn't make sense or is just plain wacko, let out a shriek and I'll change it! Thanks for reading thus far, and please please PLEASE review!


	8. A New Life

**Chapter Eight**

A New Life

Elrond shifted restlessly, resting his weight on his left foot as he leaned on the rail of the ship. The night passed slowly; his eyes ached from searching for the first sparks of dawn. The horizon was coated with velvet blackness, sprinkled with tiny stars; the moon faded gradually, its luminescent glow diminishing until at last it melded with the darkness behind.

"Elrond."

The dark-haired Elf did not bother to turn even when a hand came to rest on his shoulder; he would know the voice of his oldest friend anywhere.

Glorfindel stepped up beside him, gazing out over the shadowy expanse of water. He cast a sideways glance at Elrond and took advantage of the silence, gently massaging the stiff muscles of his friend's shoulder.

"You should get some rest."

Elrond sighed expressively, virtually ignoring Glorfindel's words, but he leaned into the touch all the same. He _was_ tired – he was not about to deny it, but he knew he would find no rest in these last few hours of the night.

He turned back to gaze at the sky, tracing the outline of each constellation carefully. He had often wondered, both as an elfling and as an adult, if the stars were the same in Valinor as they were in Arda, like a piece of the home he had left. There was no change as yet, he reflected as he rested his elbows on the rail – Eärendil still floated in his silver ship high above his son's head, and their long sundered bond danced with joyful renewal.

 _I am coming home._

* * *

Another sunrise.

Another sunrise and still no sail had appeared, shining a brilliant white against the radiant crimson of the sun. Would they ever come? She had waited so long, and never had doubt ceased to plague her, haunting her heart in a way it had not done for centuries.

Celebrian turned back from the sea, sighing a little, feeling half-heartedly for her bond with Elrond. She found only worry, tinged with fear, but as he sensed her presence a new feeling grew between them. Love, joy, excitement – but still the grief remained.

 _Elrond?_

She paused, almost afraid to continue, but he remained silent, waiting for her.

 _How is he?_

A long moment dragged by, and her heart pounded as she waited fearfully in silence. Why did he not answer?

 _His fever rises,_ Elrond replied at last. _I fear greatly for him, meleth-nín._

Another pause, more silence, but Celebrian did not break it, knowing there was something more.

 _Celebrian..._ His voice was hesitant, reluctant, as though he held something integral from her. _I do not know if Valinor will save him. His spirit is overcome with darkness, his fëa is incomplete. Even if you manage to connect with him, it may not be enough._

Celebrian dropped to the grass, tears stinging behind her eyes. Was this it, then? She had waited so long, in such uncertainty, never knowing whether she would see her sons again or not, clinging only to the hope that Elrond would come. They had taken ship, her sundered family; they were coming, but would they be reunited again?

She closed her eyes, ignoring the tears that now flowed down her cheeks, finding solace in the darkness. The sun shone brightly, but it was tinged with grey.

Love is a sacrifice.

All her life she had heard those words, from her parents, her teachers – she had known them when she looked upon Arwen for the last time by the sea and foreseen her death.

But never – _ever_ – had the brutal truth hurt so much as now.

* * *

" _Adar..."_

The cry broke through Elrond's reverie and he turned, his eyes settling on the figure of his eldest son, standing on the deck before him. There was such fear in Elladan's eyes, unmasked and tragic – it was palpable, flowing through their bond, visible in his very stance.

Without a word, Elrond pushed swiftly past and strode towards the stairs, descending into the hold and nearly running towards the bed. He was on his knees before Elladan was even off the last step and following him

Elrohir's eyes were open, but they gazed, unseeing, past him. Their grey depths were smeared with horror, his forehead creased into a thousand lines of pain, his mouth drawn back in a silent cry of terror. In his eyes, Elrond read dread too great to be expressed, so great no tears could relieve it, and all his fear came crashing down on him like a roaring wave.

Beside him, Elladan skidded to a stop and dropped down by the bed, his eyes large and panic-stricken. Elrond felt a moment tick by, then another and another, and still he simply knelt there. He did not know what to do...

"Adar!" Elladan's voice flew through his head, but Elrond did not move.

Then Elrohir screamed.

Pure, utter terror. Hatred, abysmal and intense, overriding all else but his terrible fear. His body convulsed on the bed, jolting against Elrond and nearly knocking him backward, lashing out with his hands, balled weakly into fists – but now there were tears flowing down his cheeks, and in the frenzied being Elrond saw only his little elfling. Sobs wracked Elrohir's slender form, but still he fought, as one who has but one thing left to fight for – his life.

Elrond jumped to his feet and grasped Elrohir's arm as his son rolled away from him, but Elrohir shied from the touch and fought even harder. There was pure desperation in his son's dark eyes – loathing and desperation – but Elrond paid no heed, instead pinning Elrohir's arms against his sides and pulling him against his chest.

For one brief instant, Elrohir's body was tensed and hard. Then he collapsed limply against Elrond, dropping his face on his father's shoulder.

Elladan met Elrond's eyes over his twin's head, and for one fraction of an instant, his father's face reciprocated the worry he felt. Then Elrond turned swiftly back as Elrohir let out a soft moan, shifting tiredly on his father's shoulder till his face rested in Elrond's neck. Elrond felt at once the tears soaking through his tunic, and as his eyes travelled swiftly down Elrohir's back , he saw an insidious dark stain. He did not move his eyes from Elrohir's face as he ordered, "Take off his tunic, and careful."

Elrohir stirred restlessly as Elladan undid the laces of the tunic about his neck, but Elrond held him gently in place, whispering soothing words all the while.

"Adar," Elladan said softly.

Hearing the urgent tone of his eldest son's voice, Elrond rose and strode over to Elladan's side. At Elrohir's cry, he pushed Elladan gently over to his twin. "Keep him calm, Elladan – do not let him panic."

He bent over Elrohir, his eyes quickly taking in what Elladan had seen. It was not pretty.

"Ai," he sighed, lifting his son's tunic carefully to reveal the blood-soaked bandages beneath. Elrohir cringed beneath his father's fingers, drawing in a sobbing breath as the bandages were pulled from about his waist.

As Elrond gently unwound the bandages, he could not entirely stifle his gasp, and Elrohir's eyes flew to him. Elladan pulled his brother's terrified gaze back to his face, smiling reassuringly while trying not to panic himself. He had seen the blood, and even without seeing the fresh damage, he knew it was serious.

Flinching as Elrohir cried out suddenly, Elrond reflexively tightened his arm about his son, causing Elrohir to jerk away. Caught by surprise, Elrond lost hold of him, and Elrohir fell helplessly back with a frightened cry. Elladan was just a moment too late to catch his brother, and the wounded Elf landed on the floor with a gasp of pain.

For a moment both stood frozen, gazing down at Elrohir's limp form, barely registering the shaking shoulders as he struggled to regain his breath. Then, involuntarily swearing, Elladan jumped down beside his twin and slipped both arms about Elrohir's chest, turning him over gently. In an instant, Elrond was at his side, swiftly assessing Elrohir for injuries. The only damage was a shallow scrape on one cheek, but Elrond barely noticed it. He glanced up at Elrohir's face. It was white and set, his teeth clenched, and eyes darkened with pain sought consolation. Elrond saw this with burning clarity, and he caught his son's cold hand and squeezed it, giving him an encouraging smile as Elladan lifted him carefully.

"You will be fine, Elrohir," he whispered. "Everything is going to be all right, I promise."

Elrohir gave him a tight-lipped smile, but did not even try to respond. He looked frightened, his eyes lost and full of pain, his cheeks wiped of all healthy colour. As Elrond carefully examined his back, he bit down hard on his lip, trying not to cry out. Shivers wracked him and he shook uncontrollably, Elladan's face swimming as his vision blurred.

"El..."

His voice was cracked, barely more than a whisper, but Elladan heard it all the same. A gentle touch was all it took before Elrohir reached for him, fisting his trembling hand into his twin's tunic and pulling weakly.

Elladan smiled shakily as he lifted Elrohir carefully and held him close, pressing a kiss to his brother's sweaty forehead. The fevered heat of Elrohir's body burnt through his tunic – it reached him almost as a physical pain. Feeling for their bond, he was overwhelmed by the sheer wall of pain that separated his fading brother from him. But there was something else... He frowned as he felt it, something new – a thing he had only felt in one person before; anguish he had long desired to forget.

Where before it had been ruled by light and joy, now Elrohir's soul was filled with blackness. Complete, utter blackness.

A soul overrun by darkness was a soul irreparably scarred.

And Elladan saw at last what for so long he had been fruitlessly denying.

He had felt it in his mother's broken fëa – shattered, lost, destroyed but for one tiny shard his father had managed to revive. It was a remnant of love and joy, and it had saved her.

There was nothing in Elrohir's soul. Only fathomless darkness.

He knew then what his father had seen and grieved over. The poison was trying to steal Elrohir's life, but the Orcs had taken it already.

 _And you will weep to be so alone._

At last, reliving the unbearable ache only minimally, the tears came.

* * *

Hours passed, and Elrohir grew steadily paler, his breath barely brushing Elladan's cheek as the older twin bent over his brother. He had no conception of the time that passed before he let his weary eyes study anything but Elrohir's face, memorising every feature. He suddenly thought of everything he had missed out on with his twin – things he had not gotten a chance to say, things he had or had not done... He paused for a second, and his eyes widened. When was the last time he had told Elrohir he loved him? Had his brother only felt a shadow where his vibrant, fun-loving Elladan had been before?

He closed his eyes and hugged his twin closer, feeling the ship suddenly sway and adjusting his position so as to cause Elrohir the least discomfort possible. His movements went unnoticed by the younger twin, whose eyes remained clenched tightly shut.

Elladan sighed. He had lost track of the time that had passed on the ship, but he knew it was taking unbearably long. As elflings, he and Elrohir had been convinced that it would only be a matter of minutes before the Blessed Land appeared before them, and all the legendary heroes stood waving and bowing to them as they strode down the gangway. The remembrance pulled a smile to his lips despite his misery, and an uncalled for memory flooded his mind.

 _Elladan strode through the hall towards Elrohir's room, his steps firm and determined. His robes fluttered behind him, and he watched with justified indignation as the colourful silk trailed, uncared for, on the floor. If only there was someway he could "touch up" his outfit for the evening, he thought maliciously, but there was no chance of that happening without arousing his father's wrath. Elrond had specifically picked these robes for him to commemorate Glorfindel's begetting day – but his clothing choice for his eldest son was a far cry from both the Seneschal's tastes and Elladan's._

 _He did not notice the ellon behind him, nor did the ellon notice Elladan's trailing apparel, until his attention was ungraciously jerked to the rear by a startled yelp. He turned swiftly, feeling the fabric catch under something heavy, but his heart sank as the ominous sound of ripping testified to the dubious wisdom of his action. Something – or someone – fell against him, nearly sending them to the floor, and it was Elladan's turn to cry out when his shoulder connected with the opposite wall, hard._

 _The robes tore again. Elladan jerked at the same time as the ellon, who was still struggling to free himself from its restraining holds. Another ripping sound. Panicking, Elladan pulled forcefully, his ears and eyes treated to more tearing fabric, and finally retrieved his cumbersome robes from the ellon's hands._

 _"Apologies, my lord El-Elladan?"_ _The statement was more a question than anything else, and Elladan had to smile as dark eyes sought inconspicuously to identify him._

 _"Think nothing of it." Elladan managed a taut smile, but he felt like sobbing as he took in the full damage to his outfit. Elrond would not be pleased._

 _"No... I have ruined your clothes..." the ellon stuttered, embarrassed. "I am so sorry – I did not see them trailing behind..."_

 _Elladan half-concealed a sigh. "It cannot be helped." His mood suddenly lifted as he realised what this meant. "Quite the contrary, my good Elf! Thank you!"_

 _He tripped down the hall with a light-heart, hardly able to restrain from humming his favourite drinking song. The ellon was left staring after him, a frown creasing fine features as the first doubts as to Elladan's sanity were sown in his heart._

 _Completely unaware of this, Elladan stopped at his brother's door and tapped briskly. There was no answer._

 _"Elrohir?" he called, but still received no answer. He pushed the door open and poked his head into the room. One candle was lit by the bedside, but as far as he could see, his twin was not there._

 _Strange. Elrohir had been sent to his room to prepare for the evening festivities as he himself had been. Surely his twin would not be so bold as to... but no. Elrohir enjoyed a good feast as much as he did; he would not miss it for the sake of undesirable robes._

 _Elladan sighed a little. Perhaps Elrohir was with Arwen._

 _His guess was confirmed as he paused outside his sister's door. Someone was speaking – he quickly recognised the voice as that of his brother. Arwen's lighter tone responded swiftly, as though she were rebuking Elrohir. Now more than mildly interested, Elladan pushed open the door and stood quietly just inside the room._

 _Neither Elf noticed him as he leaned nonchalantly on the doorjamb, both engaged in a violent dispute about Elrohir's nose. Arwen sat cross-legged against the headboard of her bed, and Elrohir lay with his face in her lap and his legs kicking casually in the air behind._

 _"But are you not crushing it?" Arwen asked, her voice half-concerned, half-amused._

 _Elrohir raised his head with a look of righteous indignation plastered across his face. "My nose," he announced, enunciating each word with the utmost care, "is the epitome of manly perfection. It cannot be crushed! It is flawless!"_

 _Arwen's faultless eyebrows shot skyward. "Oh, indeed?"_

 _"Stop running down my nose! It is perfection!" Elrohir was still elaborating when Elladan finally decided to make his presence known._

 _"What is this, muindor-nín?" he enquired, trying hard to hide his smile._

 _Startled by his brother's sudden appearance, Elrohir turned quickly towards Elladan, and Arwen let out a cry of dismay. "Don't!"_

 _"My apologies." Elrohir submissively replaced his head in his sister's lap._

 _Elladan wandered towards the bed, a half-grin on his face. "What is this going on with your head, Elrohir?"_

 _"With my head?" Elrohir wisely forewent the quizzical turn of the head he was so wont to do. "Pardon?"_

 _"Your head," Arwen said helpfully. "Apparently there is something circulating about it."_

 _Elrohir massaged his temples, his very being emanating complete and absolute concentration. Then he looked up, his expression one of abject misery. "I cannot think of anything!" Then his face softened in sympathy, and he reached out a hand and caught Elladan's fingers tenderly in his own. "I am sorry, Elladan. I know this is a hard time for you, but believe me, I will be there for you every step of the way."_

 _"Wha-at?" Confused, Elladan crouched down and felt Elrohir's forehead with the back of his hand._

 _"Unless," Elrohir said thoughtfully, "you are referring to my unequalled genius. It is sweet of you to remind me, but I try not to let it go to my head."_

 _"Please be assured," Elladan said kindly, "that that is not what I am referring to." He patted his twin's head and looked up at Arwen. "What are you doing to him, títhen muinthel?"_

 _Arwen could not hold her offended glare at the nickname very long, and it turned swiftly into a smile as she gestured down at her fingers and Elrohir's dark hair. "I am braiding his hair. Is that not obvious?"_

 _"Why is he not doing it? Has he hurt himself? Elrohir!" Elladan shook Elrohir's shoulder with sudden concern, and the younger twin shifted carefully so he could gaze unconcernedly into his brother's worried eyes._

 _"What?" he asked carelessly. "Forgive me, I am afraid I was not listening."_

 _"Are you all right?" Elladan still sounded worried, although Elrohir's calm demeanour should have dispelled his fear._

 _"Oh, me?" Elrohir turned back, and his bored voice came out muffled in his sister's lap. "I am fine, thank you for your concern. Next."_

 _"Then why – " Elladan glanced in bewilderment at his sister; " – why is Arwen doing your hair?"_

 _An awful moan came from the depths of Elrohir's throat, and he jerked restlessly. Arwen slapped his shoulder lightly._

 _"Stop it, Ro! You're messing the braids!"_

 _"She wants," came Elrohir's tortured voice, "to impress the elleth tonight... by this!" He gesticulated wildly in the general direction of Arwen's dancing fingers. "She is braiding my hair!"_

Elladan's train of thought was broken by a wild shout from the upper deck. He jerked upright, instinctively connecting the cry with danger of some kind. Carefully lowering his brother back to the pillows, he jumped to his feet and ran towards the steps leading to the deck. He took them three at a time, coming out into the hazy light of early dawn and catching sight of his father and Glorfindel, standing tensed at the rail of the ship.

"What is it!" He struggled to keep panic from seeping into his voice, heading immediately towards them.

Elrond turned at his son's call, but contrary to Elladan's expectations, his eyes were bright and his face awash with joy. "Elladan, come quickly!"

Elladan reached his father's side only to be pulled into a tight hug, baffling him still further. "Adar!" He pushed against Elrond's shoulders, pulling back enough to be able to meet his father's eyes. "What is it? What is wrong?"

" _Wrong?"_ Glorfindel came around to face the younger Peredhil, eyes sparkling merrily. "Nothing is wrong, elfling! We have arrived!"

 _Arrived?_

Shocked, stunned, and torn with a dozen other emotions, Elladan only stared in confusion at his father, seeking some sort of explanation in those expressive grey eyes. He saw only joy – and eventually, as the words sank into his consciousness, that joy filled him also.

"Arrived?" he repeated breathlessly. Elrond laughed and cupped his son's chin, turning Elladan's face towards the West.

And what the Elf saw completely stole his breath away.

At first all he could see were grey mountains, their lofty summits stabbing through the clouds that sailed through the early dawn. But then the darkness rolled away, and the sun peeped out, and Valinor arose from the night before his eyes. The shadows fell back from the tops of the hills that rose up fresh and verdant; pearly dewdrops fell from the freshly budding trees, and waterfalls splashed in glittering foam from the high rocks.

Elladan tore his eyes from the horizon and saw then the waves lapping gently at the sands that lay spread before the broad expanse of grass and lawn.

For a moment he did not see the woman that stood on the quay. Then his breath escaped him once more in a choking gasp.

Celebrian stood alone on the sands in the night; and the night was dying. Long ago had the clasp of evening dropped from the sky, and she turned through the darkness eastward and looked earnestly towards the dawn, and the sea. It was the second twilight, for the night and the morning drew nigh to one another as in the evening, when the rising of the moon prevailed over the sunset. One star stood in the east – the morning star, Eärendil, and his great ship glinted in the sun's first rays as he soared overhead.

Elladan did not even notice the sun as it burst gloriously over the Blessed Land. All his being, all his conscious thoughts, were encompassed by one person alone. For so long he had prepared himself for this first glimpse of his mother after the centuries that had separated them – but now she stood there, silver hair blowing in the wind, her radiant smile visible even through the distance that stood between them.

In that one instant, everything he had thought or felt flew out of his heart, and he then he sensed _her_ presence. It was like a physical embrace surrounded him, one that he had not felt in years, and he felt suddenly complete as a part – one that had been missing in his heart ever since his mother left them – of his fëa was filled all at once. There were no words... none at all... to describe this sudden rush of emotion, and it overwhelmed him. He could not tear his eyes from her beaming face, though his own were filled and blurred with tears. He barely felt gentle arms pulling him against his father's chest, or Elrond's quickened heartbeat as he gazed upon his wife.

The ship drew at last to the quay and drifted to a stop, and Celebrían's heart quickened still further, if such a thing was possible. They were so close... she could almost feel Elrond's arms circling about her, holding her so tightly she couldn't breathe – his hands, unbelievably gentle on her face as he memorised again every delicate feature.

Her eyes travelled to her eldest son. Held in the comfort of his father's embrace, Elladan was unabashedly crying, and she longed to reach out and hug him, to apologise for not having been strong enough, for not having stayed with them...

She turned involuntarily to the space beside Elladan, searching for the joyful grin of her youngest son, but Elrohir was not there. Her momentarily panic was soothed by the touch of Elrond's mind against hers, and she turned her eyes again to her husband's face, her entire being thrilling as he smiled at her. But she, and only she, saw the fear that she had felt so strongly through their bond for what seemed like an age, and with a sharp intake of breath she ran onto the quay, the waves caressing her feet as she entered the shallow water. In her haste she nearly tripped, but caught herself in time, stepping back as the ship docked.

The second the gangway was lowered, Celebrian had leapt gracefully up and was running towards them, aware of nothing but the two Elves who met her halfway in a dizzying embrace. She kissed first Elrond, then Elladan, brushing her son's tears from his cheeks with a tender hand and smiling joyfully at them.

Elrond lost himself to his wife's embrace, holding her as tightly as he possibly could, but he sensed her agitation and released her carefully. Her eyes met first his, then Elladan's, and then his again, clouded with uncertainty.

"Elrond?" Her voice was hesitant, but beneath it lay a desperate entreaty for answers. "El-Elrohir?"

Elrond's expression changed swiftly; he frowned a little, and took her hand slowly. "Celebrian..." he began tentatively, "I – I do not know how to say this..."

"Say what?" Celebrían's voice sharpened in her worry. "What is it, Elrond?"

Elrond bit his lip and ran his thumb lightly over her knuckle, pulling her gently towards the stairs leading below the deck. "Celebrian, there is no easy way to say this." His voice was soft, and held more than just a shadow of his grief. "Elrohir... his fëa... it is broken."

Celebrian only stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment, not fully understanding him. Then her eyes darkened, and she stepped back a little. "Call him back!"

Elrond shook his head, sighing. "It is not that... I have tried, meleth-nín, please believe me, I have tried... but now he wanders in darkness and answers not our calls. Not even Elladan has been able to reach him."

For a instant their souls melded in sorrow, longing, love, and loss – emotions so intense Celebrian reached involuntarily out for support. But then she drew back, and with a choking sob she ran for the stairs.

It barely took her a moment before she was running towards the bed, eyes blindly fastened on the figure on the bed. She would have ignored his wounds and indulged her motherly instincts by pulling Elrohir into her arms had she not slowed marginally before reaching his side.

His face – Ai Valar, his _face._

The lines that creased her child's forehead spoke of terror and pain, etched into his face just as surely as the trembling of his body signified his fear as she approached. His eyes were open, his lovely grey eyes, but he was not awake – he only sensed her closeness, and took her for someone who would do him harm. Celebrían's heart ached. She remembered all too clearly the months after she had been rescued from her cruel captors – how even Elrond had not been permitted to touch her. Her fear of being touched, even comfortingly held while she writhed in tortured nightmares, she saw all too clearly in the face of her youngest son.

One more step and she was beside him, reaching carefully for his hand. He jerked away as soon as her fingers brushed his, eyes wide and dark with pain and fear.

" _Melethli, saes,"_ she murmured. "Waken for me, please?"

This time Elrohir did not move away as she reached for him – if anything, he relaxed somewhat as she dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. But still he did not respond.

"Elrohir?" Celebrian bent low over her son, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other stroking his heated forehead. "Wake up, sweetheart, Naneth is here."

Her only response was a moan as Elrohir twitched almost imperceptibly.

Celebrían's frown deepened as she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. "Elrohir, baby, it is Naneth! Will you not wake?"

She felt a hand grip her shoulder, and as she whirled she saw her husband. "What?" She would have turned back to her youngest son at once had not Elrond's hand prevented her from moving.

"He has not responded to our calls," Elrond said quietly. "His mind drifts. He does not hear you."

Celebrian only stared at him, shocked. Never before had she failed to reach any of her children, never had they failed to respond. Vacant was her stare, empty but for a shimmer of tears deep in their azure depths.

"He does not hear you," Elrond repeated, and let her go.

For a moment Celebrian still stood in the heavy silence, and then, all at once, her face crumpled. Sudden desperation filled her – she would reach him – she would – she had to! She would bring him back, for when had any child ever failed to heed the call of his mother?

 _Wake... up..._

"Elrohir?" Her voice trembled, and then it all overwhelmed her, tearing her spent emotions to pieces, and she shook Elrohir in an awful frenzy, calling to him, crying, sobbing, as though her anguished tears would somehow revive her son and return him to her arms.

"Elrohir, please – please... Open your beautiful eyes for me, baby, let me see your smile... let me tell you it will be all right! Elrohir, _please_... open your eyes..."

Then Elrond's arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. She fought desperately, imploring Elrohir to waken, to smile at her...

Lost in some restless dream, her son turned away.

Celebrian shook with the weight of her grief, bitter tears flowing down her cheeks, no longer fighting against the arms wrapped firmly about her. "How could they do that? How _could_ they?"

Moved with sympathy, Elrond pulled his wife closer into his arms and kissed her silver hair. "They did the same to another I love," he said softly.

* * *

The morning waned.

A few leaves fell, scattering over the verdant lawn, but Elladan did not see them. He saw only his twin's face, crumpled in bitter tears, twisted with terror. Terror of him, of their adar – even of their naneth, who had not left his side once since they arrived at the House. It was all too similar to how Celebrian had been after her capture, just another reliving of the nightmare that had haunted him for centuries. It had only truly been dispelled when he saw her standing, smiling and whole, on the shores of the Blessed Land, and then he had been overcome with yet another.

 _Ai, Elrohir..._ He felt for his bond with his twin, hardly surprised when there was no response. _Please... hold on?_

* * *

 _Hold on..._

 _Please, hold on?_

Cruel laughter, stinging blows, merciless torture... Hideous, twisted faces, hate-filled eyes, and hands that sought to tear the life from his soul.

And as the burning pain overwhelmed him, his only conscious thought was that they had succeeded. It was all gone.

But then the Orcs disappeared, and new faces flickered before his eyes. Hands reached out to him, their touch gentle, but before he could truly feel their tenderness he had jerked away. He could not let them have him! They had taken so much, he had so little to give – they could not take anymore!

The people retreated, leaving him alone, and his stiffened body relaxed ever so slightly. But as their presence faded, some part of his tortured soul missed them – he wanted them back. Perhaps it was simply a longing for relief from his pain, or perhaps it was because somehow he knew they loved him – but he reached out, and the pleading sound that escaped his lips caused them to turn.

Then, finally, there were loving arms about him, lifting him up into a warm, secure embrace, and everything about him stilled but for the gentle kisses falling like rain on his aching forehead. He relaxed, his head pressed lightly against someone's neck, letting the soothing pulse at his ear lull him into peaceful dreams.

* * *

Celebrian finally looked up from Elrohir, hope restored as she felt her son's breath flutter lightly across her neck. He was alive – although barely – and that was enough for her. Her eyes met Elrond's across Elrohir's dark head, hoping to see her relief mirrored in his face, but though he summoned a smile it was all to clear that it was forced.

"Elrond," she said softly. "Are you not happy?"

Elrond's brow creased into fine lines and he looked – not confused, only sad. "Happy for what, Celebrian?"

Celebrian stared, glancing from Elrohir's face to Elrond's, and then back again. "For – "

"Look at him, meleth-nín!" Elrond interrupted insistently. "He has found but a moment's respite from the nightmares, from the memories. Soon he will fall back into their darkness – should that make me happy?"

Celebrían's mouth parted in an 'oh', and almost unconsciously she tightened her grasp on Elrohir's hand.

 _She remembered._

Elrohir was just another reminder of what she had suffered at the hands of the Orcs... She had implored the Valar that no other should be forced to such a fate as she had, let alone one so dear to her, so close...

She looked up as a warm hand closed over hers and lifted it. She met her husband's eyes, losing herself in the stormy greyness that gazed so keenly into hers, barely comprehending the feeling as he guided her hand down to Elrohir's chest. Then he spoke three words.

"Reach for him."

Celebrian obeyed, closing her eyes a little uncertainly. She felt Elrond's presence surround her, guiding her, and she willingly followed his lead.

Then there was something new. So weak it was barely present – but it was there, nonetheless. It was a feeling she had not sensed in a very long time, but it was achingly familiar.

Elrohir's fëa.

But something was very, very wrong.

Opening her eyes for one brief instant, Celebrian sought Elrond's eyes. He nodded.

Elrohir was broken, his very soul twisted practically beyond recognition. She reached to enfold his fëa in the strong reassurance of her own, but it was too feeble. She could not grasp it as it slipped from her, and from the grief she felt in her bond with Elrond, Celebrian knew he had already tried.

Not a single movement touched Elrohir's body – he lay there, still and pale in her arms, and the breath wisping over her skin faded.

It was growing fainter... slower... then it was gone.

* * *

 _No no no no no..._

Celebrian sat in a haze of tears and horrible grief, aware of nothing but the cold body in her arms. A keening wail filled the room, and she realised suddenly that the cry came from her own lips, drawn from the deepest recesses of her soul.

He was dead! Her child was dead!

Then her anguish escaped her in a scream.

"No! Please, no! Give him back!"

Hands wrapped around hers, pulling them gently from where they clutched at Elrohir, but she only clenched them tighter, fighting them. They would not take him away...

"Celebrian!"An urgent voice penetrated the despair flooding her heart. "Give him to me!"

At last she let go, fell back against the pillows as tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, watching Elrond take their child tenderly in his arms and cradle him close. She barely felt Elladan's arms around her, or the tears that soaked through her dress as her grieving son wept bitterly.

 _Why had they been brought together only to be separated once again?_

It could have been a moment – or an hour – that passed before Elrond started suddenly forward, a muffled gasp escaping his lips, and Celebrian simultaneously felt a faint stirring deep within herself, stemming from the fëa she had thought to be lost.

For a time, at least, Elrohir still lived.

Elrond barely dared to breathe, hoping against hope that it was not merely an illusion. He waited, holding his breath, until it came again, slowly but surely. Elrohir's chest rose slightly, and as he pressed his ear against the cold lips, a thin stream of air brushed his hair.

"Celebrian..." His voice was raw with the tears he had tried to hold back, ones that now threatened to flow – but from joy now, not grief. "Celebrian, come here."

He had hoped never again to see those beautiful azure eyes drowned in misery as they were now, but he saw a shard of hope glimmer in their depths as she gently released herself from Elladan's arms and approached.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he shifted his son until Elrohir's head rested against his shoulder, holding him gently upright to ease his breathing. Then he reached out a hand to his wife and drew her closer, placing her hand gently against Elrohir's heart.

And Celebrian understood. She felt again for that stirring of life within her heart, no longer frightened, no longer overcome by grief and fear. His soul was filled with blackness, but there was light also, and she would bring it back.

* * *

 _Elrohir..._

A sudden spark – a voice, calling his name.

 _Come back to us, child._

Come back...

 _You are not ready to leave._

Then something familiar flowed through him, weaving its way around the darkness that encroached him, and he grasped onto it with the last of his strength. It was a presence he had not sensed in such a very long time, one he had missed with all his heart.

 _Open your lovely eyes, sweetling, look at me._

Pain stabbed through him, as though punishing him for daring to listen to that ethereal, tender voice, and he could not hold back the weak cry that escaped his lips. There were arms about him, holding him lightly but firmly, and he turned a little, leaning into a strong, comforting shoulder.

The presence never left him – wrapped tightly about his fëa, it would not let him go. Now, although he could not understand them, there were voices speaking aloud beside him; all he could hear was his name being repeated over and over again in voices he had not heard for what seemed like an age.

"Gwanúr-nín, please wake..."

 _Elladan?_ He reached out, his fingers curling around another's hand.

"Wake up, Elrohir, I know you can..."

He buried his face deeper in his adar's shoulder, seeking solace there as he always had before.

"Open your eyes, baby, please?"

A hand smoothed over his hair, soft and loving, and he trembled as a sudden realisation took him.

"Look at me..."

 _It cannot be._

"I am here..."

 _Please, Valar, say you do not jest..._

"It is I, your naneth – please, open your sweet eyes?"

His mouth opened, but nothing escaped it, so dry and parched was his tongue. He sucked in a tenuous breath and tried again, this time the one word soft and pleading.

"Naneth?"

For a moment, there was silence – nothing seemed to move or speak; all he could hear was the quickened heartbeat against his chest. Then another pair of arms circled his waist, and he was lifted ever so gently and cradled like an elfling against a soft warmth, and for a moment he could not breathe. It was a dream – he would wake to be alone in that cold blackness that had forced its way into his world.

But the embrace did not end, and it did not go away. Instead the soothing words continued like a gentle caress, whispering tender nothings into his ear, stroking the lines of pain from his forehead. Soft kisses scattered their way over his tangled hair and cheeks, and something – he did not know what – soothed the pain into nothingness.

And then the darkness was gone.

He opened his eyes at last, looking up into a smiling face framed with sparkling silver hair, falling in gentle waves down about him – hair he had loved to play with, to hide behind, simply to touch... Joyful blue eyes gazed deeply within his own, shimmering with tears unshed, and simply brimming with love.

Beside her was Elrond, and at the other side his twin, Elladan. One face he missed, one he knew he would never see again, but he would grieve his sister's loss afterwards. He was content now to lie within that safe, loving embrace, surrounded by the ones who loved him best – the ones _he_ loved best.

He had, truly, come home.

 _The End_

 **A/N:** Yay, it's done at last! :D (I hope the ending is satisfactory!) Thank you sooo much to all my reviewers: Celridel, LadyLindariel, Thaishi, KimicThranduilion, leggyrespect123, Ficti0neer, and *ahem* Pumpky, and also to everyone who favourited and followed it: Ficti0neer, KimicThranduilion, LadyLindariel, Tara07, Wrathematics, Yorkiemom, alpahis, cythia, pipilo, MC-lothiriel, Miraerys, verwohnt, and shailjajoshi37 (did I spell that right? 0_0). You were all my motivation for finishing this story!

I would be remiss if I didn't thank Ficti0neer for helping and encouraging me on the last (several) chapters. I probably would have abandoned this if you hadn't reminded me about posting... XD

And another thank-you goes to LadyLindariel (again) for her amazing help on this chapter. You're the best!

If you have questions about anything in this chapter, please feel free to PM me and shriek. I may or may not bite. (I have chosen to withhold that information.) As usual, since you have obviously read the chapter accompanying this extremely boring and uninformative note, I would love it if you reviewed this chapter! (So? I'm waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiting...)

~Lydwina Marie

 **Elven Translations:**

Meleth-nín – my love

Muindor-nín – my brother

Títhen-muinthel – little sister

Melethli – sweetheart

Saes – please

Gwanúr-nín – my twin


End file.
